The Devil Wears McQueen
by Dark Satanic Mills
Summary: When Blaine Anderson gets the job of a lifetime at Vogue, he isn't prepared for the world of catfights, stilettos and hairspray. He definitely isn't prepared for Kurt Hummel, the most demanding man in fashion and ridiculously attractive editor-in-chief
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: The first couple of chapters borrow quite heavily from The Devil Wears Prada, but the story isn't based on it at all. There isn't much Kurt in the first two chapters either, but he will definitely be featured much more as the story goes on! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, or The Devil Wears Prada, or any other major TV or film production. Pity.**

**Warnings: The story is rated M, but that won't kick in for a few chapters.**

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Blaine sprinted down the sidewalk, messenger bag clutched to one side as he pushed through the crowds.

"Excuse me…sorry, sorry… please, excuse me…"

A car horn cut through the bustle when he ran in front of a taxi across an intersection, throwing an apology over his shoulder as he ran on. A stream of profanities followed him down the street. He raced past a news kiosk, sending someone's paper flying, and swung around the corner, through the middle of a line of people waiting at the bus stop and dashing across the street as the green man flashed on and off.

He _really_ had to speak to the landlord about that elevator.

By the time he arrived at the glass doors he was out of breath and had a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Worse still, he could feel the iced mocha someone had spilt as he ran past them inching its way down his spine. The building in front of him was clad in white marble, with gold lettering above the entrance proclaiming the name of the company. It jostled with the skyscrapers around it for a place on the most iconic skyline in the world. It was huge, impressive, stylish, glamorous. Everything Blaine currently wasn't.

He could be smart enough when he tried, and he'd tried this morning; dressing as snappily as he could on an unemployed journalism-graduate's budget, and he'd tamed his hair with gel into a sleek style that he thought screamed 'junior under-assistant to the editor'. Of course that was before he'd gotten stuck in the elevator for 40 minutes and had to run 9 and a half blocks to make it to his 8th job interview this month, ten minutes late and with the faint whiff of sweat clinging to his once-neat shirt and cardigan combo.

Crappest first impression ever.

He walked over to the front desk, trying to appear self-assured. It didn't help that every woman around him seemed to be wearing ridiculously scary heels, making him feel even smaller than usual.

"Erm, hello, I'm here for an interview with Santana Lopez?"

The woman behind the counter continued tapping at her keyboard for a few seconds, then glanced up with a polite smile that looked painted onto her face. "Your name please?"

"Oh, yes, my name's Blaine Anderson." Ugh, what happened to his brain when he needed it?

Her fingers flew over the keys. "38th floor. Please wait in the reception area until Miss Lopez arrives. She's been caught up with a shoot, so she may be a few minutes."

"Thankyou…" he squinted at her name badge "…Marie. Um, do you know where I can find the men's…"

She didn't look up from her computer screen as she answered. "Take the elevator to the 38th floor, then take the first door on your right, second left, down to the end of the corridor and it's the door with the little man on it."

"So that's the first right, erm…"

"First right, second left, end of the corridor and the door with the man. Have a nice day."

He repeated the slightly sarcastic dismissal back to her, and headed for the elevator. First right, end of the corridor, left…wait…

The doors pinged open at the 38th floor and he stepped out. Second left, end of the corridor…

He walked out into a cream reception area. A receptionist with blonde, coiffed hair sat behind a polished wooden counter flanked by light leather sofas. To his right, the door had a discreet sign saying 'toilets' on it.

She could have mentioned that!

He followed the corridor into the immaculate bathroom and headed for the sinks, splashing a bit of water onto his face. Breathe, Blaine, you can do this, he told himself firmly. You have a degree from Stanford for Christ's sake, you can handle a bit of photocopying. Just stay calm, it's only an interview. It's not like you haven't had enough practise at those. Turn on the charm, she doesn't know you're late, it'll be fine.

He adjusted his bowtie in the mirror and tried to look confident. Hmm. Maybe he should lose the raised eyebrows, he looked sort of constipated. There, that was better.

He'd only just walked back into the reception area and sat down when a harassed-looking latina woman in a skin tight white dress marched into the room in sky-high shoes, spitting into a mobile phone.

"…_mi_ _dio_, Berry, if those prints aren't ready by 11 latest I'll strangle you with one of your hideous pairs of tights… I'm working with a bunch of _imbéciles incapaces_… he'll be here in half an hour, and I wouldn't want to be in your virginal little Mary Janes when he arrives… you, follow me."

It took Blaine a second before he realised that this last statement was addressed to him, and she was already heading down another corridor before he jogged after her to catch up.

"…yeah, well that's not my problem, just get it sorted. And quickly!" She snapped the phone shut and swept into another reception, dropping it onto a glass desk as she passed. She whirled around and glared at him, like he was offending her by standing there.

"Uh, good morning, are you Santana Lopez? My name's Blaine Anderson, I…"

She ignored his proffered hand and cut him off, shaking her head. "What were they thinking? If this is someone's idea of a joke I'm going to find out who and… well, whatever. You're clearly not what we're looking for."

Blaine just stared at her. At least he'd actually had an interview before they'd rejected him at the last place! "If I could just give you my resume, I graduated with honours from Stanford last year, I edited the student paper and…"

Santana looked almost amused now. "Listen, hobbit. This is a fashion magazine, and what's more this is Vogue. Do you even understand what that means? We employ people who know about fashion, not short-assed little Ivy league types who dress like my _abuelo _and are desperate for something to pay the rent."

Blaine had never felt smaller. "Look, I…"

"You what? Thought that life would be easy because your daddy paid for a fancy education? You don't need letters after your name here, you need style. Taste. Talent. Do you even read Vogue?"

"I…"

Her phone beeped and she waved a hand to shut him up. "_Hostia!_ He's back already! Just stay out of the way until I'm done, ok?"

He was about to ask until what was done, but she'd already disappeared, surprisingly quickly considering the height of her shoes. There was no one else in the room, so he leant against the edge of the desk gingerly, not convinced the glass could take his weight. This interview, if you could even call it that, had been even more humiliating than the previous ones. He did read Vogue, not that you'd know it from his sparse wardrobe in the dingy flat he worked his ass off as a barista to afford. His roommate's partner got it every month and he borrowed it when she'd finished, looking at the lifestyles he could never afford and the places he'd never visit.

The job had seemed like a sign when he called up the magazine group to inquire. He'd graduated 8 months earlier, and so far all he'd achieved was a job in a café on the lower east side and a dream, gradually eroded by sweat, tears and Arabica. An opening at Vogue, even if it was as assistant junior something-or-other, had seemed like destiny finally giving him a nudge. But of course it was just another dead end, to join the other tens of dead ends lurking in his recent past. His life was like a mortuary for hope, faith and the American dream. And he'd broken a mug this morning. _And_ that mocha had probably ruined his favourite shirt.

Today was not Blaine Anderson's day.

He pulled his cell out of his bag to text Wes with an account of the disastrous past hour, and noticed that he also had coffee stains down the side of the leather. He groaned out loud. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"Is there any reason why you're making that noise in my office, or do you regularly enter other peoples' work spaces to make a noise like an elephant sneezing?"

Blaine's head snapped up to see a slim man in front of him, watching him with his arms crossed and one eyebrow cocked. "I… I'm waiting for Miss Lopez. She told me to wait," he repeated stupidly, trying not to make his surprise quite so obvious. The man was… Blaine searched for a phrase less crude than 'fucking gorgeous'. He had a perfect sweep of light brown hair and pale skin with light, expressive eyes. Wait, Blaine, think about something else. And stop gawping at him! Dammit, brain, where the hell are you today?

"Miss? That's the first time I've heard her called that," the man drawled. "The usual honorific is 'that bitch'." He eyed Blaine up. "You didn't answer my question. Why exactly are you using up the valuable air in this office?"

Blaine narrowed his eyes at the disdain in the other man's voice. "I had an interview for the assistant's job, but seeing as this company would apparently rather employ someone who dresses like a puppet than someone with half a brain, I think I'll be going."

A smirk appeared on that _oh-so-kissable_ mouth. "You're bitter. On some men that would lend a certain attractive arrogance, but you just sound whiny."

Blaine nearly snorted. Ok, maybe he did snort a little. "I suppose I just don't understand the concept of a company which doesn't care about the intelligence or work ethic of their employees. I mean, I did work non-stop for three years to get a top class degree from one of the best colleges in the country and then got dismissed out of hand from a job interview because of my _shirt_, but then again, maybe I'm just being _whiny_." He stuffed his phone back into his bag and looked up to see the man still watching him with that irritating sparkle in his _not at all attractive_ eyes.

"This is Vogue. We do value shirts quite highly here."

Damn him, and damn his stupid superiority. "So I see. I just thought that perhaps someone smart, hard-working and capable just might do a decent job. Obviously I was wrong. _Goodbye_."

He was still watching him, arms crossed across his chest and a smile playing around his lips. Blaine had already turned to leave when he spoke again.

"Santana will give you the contract when she gets back. She'll explain your responsibilities. I hope to see some of this hard work and mental acuity you apparently have in spades. I expect you to prove to me that you're worth it. Oh, and speak to me like that again and I'll fire you."

Wait, what?

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked through a door. A door marked _Editor-in-Chief, Kurt Hummel_. The door slammed shut behind him.

He stared at the closed door blankly until Santana rushed back into the room a few minutes later.

"You'd better not have got into any trouble while I was gone," she glared at him. "I think I said just about everything the first time round, let me check, did I tell you your hair looks like it has enough grease in it fatten up half the orphans in Africa? It really is selfish of you to hold a small country's food supply to ransom on your head. Oh, and Ronald McDonald called. He wants his bowtie back."

The infuriatingly melodic voice of _that man_ buzzed through the intercom. "Satan, darling, if you're not too busy ripping the newbie to shreds, would you get your perfectly formed ass in here?"

Santana sent one last glare at Blaine before she froze. "Wait, _what?_"

"Sometime this century would be appreciated."

She turned on her heel and marched into the office. There was a quiet murmuring, a shriek, a brief tirade of swearing in Spanish, and then Santana emerged, looking, if it was possible, even more pissed off. She stared daggers at Blaine, and he shrank back slightly.

"I have no idea how you brainwashed him into this, but I am not happy about having to suffer second-hand embarrassment from the indignity of your hair. You will sit behind that desk," she gestured at the table he was standing in front of "and you will do what you're told. I oversee all of the departments, so you will answer to me. Everyone answers to me, actually." She smiled nastily. "We'll see how long you last. The last two were gone within the month."

Blaine was feeling more and more shell-shocked by the second. "What exactly do I have to do?"

"Oh, just answering the phones, fetching coffee, chasing up other departments, managing Kurt's schedule, coordinating clothes, makeup, stylists, photographers and models for shoots, doing all the legwork, working at events, doing anything else Kurt asks you and, well, doing anything that anybody wants you too, really. Is that clear?" Her smile right now looked like the cat had got not just the cream but the entire contents of the fridge too.

"Yes. That's…clear."

"Good. Go to human resources on the 32nd floor, Chris Wood will give you your contract, and if you're not happy with it you can find a new job. You'll start on Wednesday at 11am, and you'll work 8 until 6.30 Monday to Friday, occasional Saturdays."

"Today's Wednesday."

If it was possible, her smile got even wider. "So it is. You'll be back here in…" she glanced at the clock on the wall "…an hour and 3 minutes. The contract should only take about 50 minutes to work out. And don't be late. I'm not going to pick up your slack, just because it's your first day. Now excuse me, some of us have work to do."

She sashayed off, still grinning. Blaine stood where she'd left him, staring after her in slightly horror-struck confusion.

He'd just got a job. At Vogue magazine. Working with a woman who was the devil incarnate and for a man who was the most arrogant guy he'd ever met. And after 3 years at an Ivy League school, that was saying something.

Well damn.

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**Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**We're going to meet a whole bunch of Glee characters plus an OC in this chapter. Let me know if you like them! I was going to wait a week between posting chapters, but I'm nowhere near disciplined enough.**

**Warnings: PG-13 for this chapter. At some point the M rating will come into play, but not for a long while yet!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything recognisable**

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He called Wes as soon as he got home that evening. "Hey man, are you still at work?...no, no biggy, I just got a job…" he chuckled at the not very masculine shriek that came down the line. "I know, I know! What time do you finish today?...ok, see you at 8 at Harry's, bring Emma too, she'll be excited… I'll tell you why later!...no, I'm not going to spill. I'm gonna call David, I'll see you later, ok? Ok…bye."

He hung up, still grinning. His housemate was probably the only person who knew quite how desperate he'd been getting. Blaine's biweekly phone calls to his parents in Westerville were full of reassurances that he was doing fine, he just hadn't got a job yet because he was thinking about his options, and no he hadn't met a nice boy yet, mom, please stop asking. It was Wes who'd waited for him to arrive home from his shift at the café every night with a cold beer and the reassurance of 'next time', and then they'd watch crappy action movies on Netflix until they really had to get to bed.

He'd met Wes at college, struggling under a pile of law books in the library. By the time they'd got to the front counter to check them out, Blaine knew that Wes had a girlfriend called Emma, he was studying undergraduate law, he had a girlfriend, he preferred Daniel Craig over any of the Bonds before or since with the possible exception of Sean Connery, he was head over heels in love with his girlfriend, and he watched Doctor Who religiously. Oh, and he had the most beautiful girlfriend in the world. It was the beginning of a friendship. Since then the girlfriend had become a fiancée, Wes had got an internship at a big law firm in the city, and Blaine… Blaine had pretty much stayed exactly where he was.

Sometimes they were joined in their movie marathons by Emma, a cute brunette with a pixie cut and a stack of Vogues holding up one corner of the coffee table in her apartment, or David, who worked with Blaine at the café, was freakishly good at Halo and could quote all three of the Bourne films from start to finish. The four of them barely fitted in the cramped living room, but with Emma on Wes's lap, a compromise neither of them seemed too upset about, they could just about squeeze onto the couch to watch someone have their guts ripped out in all sorts of original ways. The three of them had become Blaine's life lines, not least because David was just as willing to bitch about the manager at work as he was.

He called David next, repeating almost the exact same conversation.

"…Harry's at 8?...You'll have to wait for details until I get there!...ok, see you."

He arrived at their favourite bar at 8.03. They'd been coming here since they were juniors, and despite the suspicious layer of _stuff_ which coated the floors and sometimes the walls, it now felt like home. They had a beer ready for him, and were staring at him as he wandered in and flopped down onto one of the couches.

He waited a full minute before he gave up trying not to smile. "So guys…what's up?"

Emma groaned in frustration. "Out with it, Anderson!"

He looked up at her innocently. "Out with what? Ok, ok, I'll tell you," he grinned, and she started to whack him round the head with her bag. "Ouch, stop hitting me!"

She sank back into her seat, grinning. "That'll teach you to mess with a girl with a new season Miu Miu purse."

Wes leaned over to pat him on the back. "Just be glad it wasn't the shoes. Those things _hurt!_"

Blaine grabbed his beer and took a swig, looking up at his friends with an injured expression. "Well I was _going_ to tell you all about my new job, but if you're just going to hurt me…" He received one last slap around the head with the purse. "Fine! I got a new job, a real one this time!" He glanced over at David. "Um, no offence."

He grinned back. "None taken. Where is it, then? A restaurant? Have you moved up from humble baristahood into a fully-fledged server?"

Blaine shook his head, still floating, despite the endless pile of jobs he'd managed to mess up already that afternoon. "Nope."

Emma gaped at him. "Wait, you mean it's actual journalism? You're going to be a real journalist?"

"You could say that. I mean, it's only a small magazine, it probably won't even get off the ground…"

Wes looked at him sympathetically. "Still, it's a great start, though! What's it called?"

He took a sip of his beer nonchalantly. "Vogue."

There was silence for a second before Emma full on _screamed_ and resumed her battering of Blaine's head. "You're… going… to work… for _Vogue_?" she yelled in between shots. Wes pulled her off gently, trying to ignore the fact that half the bar was now staring at them.

"Yep."

David was still staring at him in confusion. "But…how? I mean, we love you man, but you're not exactly…"

"Cut-throat? Remotely stylish? Tall enough to reach the top shelf in supermarkets?" Emma supplied helpfully.

"…I was going to say a fashionista! And you're not so tall yourself, Ems." She scowled prettily at him as he continued. "But seriously, good for you! You deserve this."

Blaine smiled back at him. He knew that David was right, he wasn't that delusional, but he also knew that all his friends were genuinely happy for him. "Thanks, that means a lot."

Emma had finally sat down with a huff and picked up her glass of wine. "Does this mean you'll be able to get me advance copies of the magazine?"

They all laughed. "I'm not sure about that, honey, I don't think the junior under-assistant to the editor actually has that many privileges!"

She glanced at him. "Assistant to the… you're going to be working with _Kurt Hummel!_"

"Er… yes?"

Emma leaned forward again, looking shocked. "But you can't do that!"

He just looked at her. "Why not?"

Her kohl-lined eyes were wide. "Blaine, he's a monster! Have you never heard about him? He's like a robot! He's ruthless, he's supposed to be the most demanding man in the whole of fashion! Believe me, that's saying something!"

"He seemed alright… I mean, he was a bit rude, but I figured…"

"He's lulling you into a false sense of security! He's like a shark, Blaine, he'll eat you alive!"

"…Ems, how many glasses of wine have you had?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "I'm serious! I don't want to see my Blaine eaten… who will I go to the spa with?"

Blaine laughed and put an arm round her shoulders. "It's always good to know I'll be missed. Don't worry, I promise not to get eaten, ok?"

"…ok."

He turned back to David. "So… another beer?"

* * *

With the ominous threat of death by cannibalism hanging over his head, Blaine started his first proper day. Within an hour he was less convinced that he'd make it out alive.

It started with the computer. The design looked sleek, he'd give it that, but after spending ten minutes trying to turn it on, he accidentally set off an error message that beeped at him until Santana arrived, pressed a couple of keys and it turned off. He'd started to thank her when she called over her shoulder "You need to call Rhys at the studios, Kurt wants him ready for a 6am shoot tomorrow and the makeup's double booked, so you need to contact beauty and get them to send someone else asap. They need to go over themes with the photographer before the shoot, we're using Pierre Hardy so make sure they have his details. Got that?"

"Um…"

"Get it done, hobbit!"

Great. On top of everything else, that nickname seemed to have stuck.

After trying and failing to find a number for 'Rhys no-last-name', he called the beauty department. A woman called Mercedes turned out to be the first nice person he'd met, and she told him she'd sort it out. "First day, huh?"

Blaine laughed down the phone. "Yeah, and Santana seems determined to make sure I screw everything up."

"Yeah, she does that with everyone. Don't take it personally! Now, who have you met so far?"

"No one really, just Santana and… Kurt."

She whistled slightly. "Jeez, I wish you luck with those two. I mean, he's brilliant and everything, but… well, you'll see."

Blaine wasn't sure what to think. Sure, Kurt had been a bit standoffish the day before, but he couldn't be that bad.

"…tell you what, do you want to meet me for lunch and tell me all about it?"

"That would be great!"

"Ok, I'll come get you at 12.30. And I'll email you Rhys' number, you call him and I'll sort everything else out."

"You're a lifesaver!" Blaine thanked her gratefully, and she giggled down the phone.

"Yeah, that's me. See you, if you survive that long!"

He hung up the phone. Why was everyone so sure he couldn't do this?

He found out a few minutes later.

Santana had told him that Kurt was punctual, and she wasn't kidding. At 10am exactly he swept through the front doors, preceded by his voice.

"Fetch me Jacob, his piece on liposuction was the shoddiest bit of tabloid journalism I've ever read. He'll get that raise over my dead body. Honestly, Santana, where is everyone? I need to speak to Paul, the Canadian shoot just won't do, thank god we didn't send him off to Europe like he wanted. He needs to learn a lot about taking pictures before I let him loose with a model and an intercontinental flight. I've been sent more footage of trees than of clothes!"

The man himself swept round the corner, glancing at Blaine as he deposited a chocolate leather trench coat on his desk and strode into the office. "Get me Marc on the phone!"

"Marc…"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Marc Jacobs!" she hissed, grabbing the coat off his desk and hanging it in a concealed cupboard. "Come on, quickly!"

Blaine clicked at his computer, scrolling through the address book. He'd just found the number when Kurt spoke again. "What is taking so long? And where's my water? Honestly, and you claimed to be intelligent. That's the last time I listen to someone other than myself."

Santana dashed past with a crystal glass and bottle. "Here it is, Kurt. Is there anything else?"

"Yes, contact Stella's people, I want to move the preview for Autumn/Winter. I don't like the emphasis on tortoiseshell, it's far too 2008. She'll have to change it. Also, call Sam and tell him I'll be late home, and then get the reservation for lunch tomorrow moved to, say, 1pm. Oh, and I want a chicken caesar salad from Jean Georges, parmesan but no dressing. Let the new boy get it."

And as Blaine stood waiting at the deliveries entrance for the most expensive salad he'd ever seen, he sort of understood what people had been trying to tell him about Kurt Hummel.

* * *

He made it back just in time to be whisked away by Mercedes, and now they were sitting in the cafeteria across a plastic table that made him feel like he was back in high school. He'd been surprised when he first saw her to see, instead of the statuesque models that seemed to inhabit most of the building, a small, curvy black-skinned girl with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. That's not to say she didn't look good; she clearly had very good taste, judging from the simple yellow dress that set off her skin tone.

Blaine took a bite of his Panini while she talked, explaining the complex hierarchy that existed between departments.

"The stylists are all snobs, they treat everyone in beauty like children. We don't really interact with lifestyle much, they sort of keep to themselves. Then there's the writers, who turn up, ignore everything we tell them and make something up for the article. Strangely enough, it all seems to work."

"And what about Kurt? He seems kind of young to be editor-in-chief of Vogue."

"He's a bit of a mystery, actually. Nobody knows much about his past. He turned up at Elle one day as an editorial assistant, and he worked his way up from there! He's only been the editor-in-chief a year, but he's as well-respected as anyone at his level. I guess that's what comes from being an evil tyrant!" she said.

"Yeah, I see what you meant!" He told her about the hour and a half round trip to fetch a salad, and she laughed.

"You haven't seen anything yet. I was friends with his last assistant, Tina – she works in marketing now – and you wouldn't believe some of the horror stories I heard! She had to move departments in the end, she got pregnant and the stress would have killed her. Hey, why don't you have lunch with both of us tomorrow? I promise not to let her scare you off, and she could give you some tips."

Blaine was already fond of Mercedes. Her sense of humour was the only thing stopping him from panicking at the moment. "That would be amazing! I think I need all the help I can get."

She shook her head at him. "You'll be fine, smart kid like you. Just keep your head down, and don't get on his bad side."

"I haven't seen his good side yet! I'm starting to think he's a robot, honestly."

She laughed at the dejected expression on his face. "Well, he pretty much is a lot of the time. He has a boyfriend who nobody ever sees except at fashion events, and nobody knows if he even has a private life. It's like he materialises every morning at the office, sent here to scare us all into getting our work done."

"Hmm." He glanced at his watch. "I'd better be going, I only have 40 minutes for lunch. I suppose most of the people here don't actually eat anything." Mercedes gave him a sympathetic look. "See you tomorrow?"

"Sure thing. Now go, we don't want to keep the she-devil waiting!"

He groaned and stood up. "I pity the poor guy who ends up in a relationship with her."

"She's got a girlfriend, actually. Brittany works in style. You'll probably meet her at some point…let's just say, you'll know her when you do."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll work it out when you meet her! Anyway, do you have a boyfriend?"

He stared at her. "How did you know I was gay?"

Mercedes rolled her eyes. "You work at Vogue. There isn't a straight guy in the building."

"Oh, right."

"I'll take that as a no, then…" she hinted.

"No, I haven't… and that's all the gossip you're going to get!"

"Damn, should've been more subtle!" she grinned. "See you soon, Blainers!"

Fantastic, another nickname. At least this one beat 'hobbit'.

* * *

Over the next couple of weeks, the days started to blur together. Blaine met Tina, a tiny Asian girl who kept one hand protectively covering her slight bump through the whole of lunch. He'd never seen someone who just exudes love, but the pregnancy had made her glow and he found it impossible not to smile when he was around her. He met her husband too, a dancer for the New York City Ballet, and together they were one of those couples who make you feel like you're intruding on a private moment every time they look at each other or, in Mercedes' case, fake retching behind their backs.

He finally mastered the computer, printer and phone directory, and he'd come to a tentative agreement with the photocopier that he wouldn't try and use anything but the basic settings as long as it didn't spew out hundreds of negative copies of an article on spa treatments, as had happened on his third day. He'd been certain for a second that Santana was going to murder him and turn his skin into a purse, but she just sighed, muttered something uncomplimentary about his shoes and told him where to dispose of them. Blaine was pretty sure that meant that she was willing to put up with him, even if they weren't exactly friends.

He'd met Brittany too, when he'd ventured down to style to chase up some sketches. He'd walked up to the front desk and opened his mouth to ask for someone when a tall woman with her blonde hair in a high ponytail walked into the room. "Oh, are you the hobbit? San says you tried to walk to Mordor but your feet started hurting, so you came here instead. I wasn't sure if she was joking, she does that thing sometimes when she tells a lie but it's not really a lie, because it's sarcastic. Why are you wearing shoes? Hobbits don't need shoes, they have hairy feet instead. I know, I watched the movie twenty seven times before San accidentally stood on the disc. I'm Brittany S. Pierce, by the way, no relation to Britney Spears. Do you have hairy feet?"

Blaine didn't reply for a second, trying to process everything he'd just heard. "Yeah, I suppose I do have hairy feet."

"Ok! I have to go now, hobbit Blaine. Lord Tubbington's run away again and I think I saw him go into wardrobe. Bye!"

Blaine was left speechless until someone arrived with the prints, and he went back upstairs trying to reconcile the image of Santana, the fire-breathing dragon, being in a relationship with a girl who sounded like she'd hopped through a door from Oz.

In fact, the only person he didn't see much of was Kurt. Every morning at 10am exactly a coat landed on his desk, and every couple of hours the intercom would burst into life with a demand or four. At 5.30pm, he would sweep out of the office, pick up his coat from a waiting Blaine and leave the building.

He saw his boyfriend once; not in person but in a picture from the Versace party. He was about the same height as Kurt, with light blonde hair and an enormous mouth. They looked awkward in the picture, Blaine thought; Sam had his arm around Kurt, but they stood a few inches apart. Then again, when were photos ever flattering?

All in all, he thought he'd settled in pretty well. He was even finding shortcuts to Jean Georges, and he'd cut is time down to a 50 minute round trip. He'd also made friends with the pot boy, if you could call it that; most of their interaction revolved around Puck making jokes about how 'whipped' he was, laughing loudly and throwing an arm around Blaine's shoulders and calling him 'my boy!'.

He was in the middle of an email row with the art department over some missing prints when Santana sashayed past him in an even shorter skirt and even higher heels than usual.

"Hey there, prep boy! I haven't seen you around much recently, or maybe that's just because you're so short I look right over your head."

He ignored the insult and replied "It's lovely to see you too, Santana."

She snorted at him and walked straight into Kurt's office. "You wanted to see me? Decided to switch teams? Because I have to tell you, the only straight I am is straight up bitch."

Blaine had no idea how she dared talk to Kurt like that, but as far as he could tell she treated everyone with the same mix of insults and disdain most people would reserve for something they found on the bottom of their shoe. Apparently that included her boss.

"Satan, remind me to give you a raise. You must be feeling the recession if you can't even afford a skirt." Kurt drawled in that same arrogant tone, which was ridiculously attra– _Blaine, he's your boss!_

"Well look at that, Kurty's got claws. What did you want?"

He sighed. "Can you get me a reservation for five tonight? Somewhere simple, I can't be recognised."

"Romantic meal for five? Hummel, you shock me, and that's saying something. Trouty mouth will be distraught."

There was a soft thump and a quiet "ouch!" from Santana.

"Sam will be just fine, he's seeing Quinn all this week and over the moon about it. It's quite sickening, actually. It's for family, as you well know."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Was the last place ok?"

"It was great, but I don't want to go to the same place twice."

Santana sighed. "It's not like you'd ever get recognised. Wear enough flannel and you're just some other skinny boy. Flannel even makes _me_ ugly!"

There was an amused chuckle. "I'm sure. Just find me somewhere, please?"

Blaine had never heard Kurt say please before.

"Sure, sure. Anything for my favourite dolphin."

"You spend too much time around that girlfriend of yours."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Say hi to Frankenteen and the dwarf for me, that is if you can fit them both in your frame of vision at the same time. And try to stop the whale from eating the whole of New York City out of grilled cheeses, I can't be dealing with a rationing crisis right now. I might chip a nail fighting for Jarlsberg."

"Good_bye_, Santana."

"Later, Porcelain."

She strode back out of the office, not even glancing down at Blaine.

There were so many things in that conversation to think about that he didn't know where to start. He sat for a minute, staring at the opposite wall. Eventually he muttered to himself, "he wears _flannel?"_

Blaine shook his head. He had more important things to think about than Kurt's mysterious rendezvous in a downtown diner. As intriguing as it sounded, he had a list as long as his arm of jobs to do, starting with finding out what the hell those morons in the art department had done with these prints.

* * *

**Duh, duh, duuuuh!**

**I'm so excited for the next couple of chapters :) Please review!**

**Also, I need to ask a favour from any readers from the US! Would anyone mind taking a few minutes to answer some questions about things you do/don't get in the states? I'm British, and I have a few things in mind that I need to check out. Let me know and I'll PM you!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks so much to the americans who let me pick their brains after the last chapter! Seriously, I can't believe the response I've got so far, and we're only 2 chapters in! I literally scream quietly every time I read a review, because I'm mature like that...**

**Warnings: All PG-13 this chapter**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Glee**

* * *

He tried not to think about it, but the conversation he'd overheard was eating away at him. He'd even looked up 'dolphin' on urban dictionary, then closed the window very quickly when he saw what came up. He hoped to hell Santana hadn't been implying that Kurt did _that_.

He didn't know what to make of it. If Kurt was having dinner with his family, why all the secrecy? And what did he mean by family? That could be his parents, his siblings, even a partner or children. He was surely too young to have kids, but he did have this mysterious long-term boyfriend who seemed to have been with him for as long as anyone could remember. But then Kurt had said that Sam was meeting Quinn, whoever that was. Blaine couldn't remember anyone mentioning Kurt's parents, least of all the man himself. Then again, Kurt barely spoke to him except to give him yet another half dozen tasks to complete, or to send him out searching for scarves, or tangerines, or, one memorable time, twenty retro toy cars to illustrate a spread on Americana accessories, which he'd then had to throw around the room for a while until they were deemed sufficiently dented.

And then there was the way Santana and Kurt had interacted. She was probably the only person who Kurt _asked_ to do things, rather than told. They were both as snarky to each other as they were to everyone else, but there was an underlying fondness that hinted at two people comfortable with one another.

He was meeting Mercedes and Tina for drinks after work, and in the end it just slipped out. They'd made a habit of visiting Tiger Works, a bar not nearly as impressive as it sounded but still elegant enough. The entrance was surrounded by baroque flourishes in the plaster, and the interior was decked out in generic polished wood, with delicate white patterns picked out on the cream walls. It was one hell of a step up from Harry's, where you were considered posh if you drank lager from a glass.

Mercedes was at the bar fetching their third round when Tina remarked that he looked tired, and asked if he was alright. He blurted out the first thing that was on his mind. "Does Kurt have a family?"

That was subtle, well done Blaine. You'll never work for the CIA if that's your idea of tactical questioning.

She looked at him confusedly. "Well he has a boyfriend, haven't you heard about Sam?"

"So he doesn't have any other family?" he asked. He didn't know why that conversation had got to him, but it was niggling away under his skin. How can you hide having a family?

"Not that I know of, but then he's always very private. Why do you ask?"

"It's nothing…" When she narrowed her eyes at him, Blaine gave in. He didn't feel up to putting up a fight. "I just heard him asking Santana to book him a restaurant somewhere he wouldn't be recognised, he said it was for family."

"That's strange, I've never heard him mention them. And you should be organising his diary, not Santana." She shrugged, obviously not particularly interested by her ex-boss' secretive ways. "Weird."

Mercedes chose that moment to come back with an appletini for her, a San Miguel for Blaine and a virgin Margarita which Tina took begrudgingly, and the conversation moved on to the cute guy in marketing. Mercedes was arguing passionately that he was straight while Tina shook her head, giggling, and as Blaine joined in on Tina's side he finally stopped thinking about Kurt Hummel.

* * *

He woke up to a beeping which seemed to have burrowed inside his head and was currently hammering on the inside of his brain. He groaned and rolled over to turn of the alarm, then burrowed back inside the covers. He ran his tongue experimentally over his teeth, and concluded that they'd dissolved in the night. Brilliant. He'd just lie here for a few hours and slowly go insane from the god awful banging in his brain.

A pillow hit his head with terrifying accuracy. "Go away!" he yelled, which came out as something along the lines of "Mmphgmway!"

"I would, but you have to get up for work, and your boss is the scariest man alive, remember?" Wes called through the blankets.

"He's not a man, he's a freaking robot," Blaine mumbled into the pillow. What time was it anyway? Definitely too early to be conscious.

"It's your fault for staying out until an unearthly hour in the morning on a school night!" And when Wes and Emma got their act together and actually started a family, he would step right into fatherhood. He'd be the sort of Dad who told you to get your homework done as soon as you got it, and to pack your bag for school the night before. _Sensible_.

Blaine just grunted. "Leave me 'lone."

"Look, if necessary I will pour water on your head," Wes said, sounding bored.

Blaine sprang upright, clutching the blankets to his chest. "You do that and you're a dead man!"

Wes just chuckled. "I knew that would work."

Blaine pouted at him miserably. "You're cruel. Stop bullying me, I'm only little."

"That's true enough. Now, are you actually going to get out of bed?"

Blaine shook his head.

"Blaine."

Another shake.

"I'll fetch the water…" he singsonged.

Blaine was out of bed and standing up like a shot, still with the blankets tangled round his body. "I hate you," he grumbled, shuffling over to the nightstand to get the fluid for his lenses. He hadn't taken them out last night, and one of them was stuck halfway round his eye, so the whole room looked slanted. He took it out and wet it, cleaning it with his finger while Wes picked up the pillow he'd thrown. He glanced at his watch. "I gotta go, the suits might notice that they haven't got their coffee yet. It's about the only thing they do notice about me."

Blaine grinned, not feeling particularly magnanimous after his wake up call. That and his head still felt like a cement mixer, and he felt pretty queasy. "Aww, Wesley, some day they'll notice your preppy eagerness and the stick up your ass, and then you'll be a partner too!" He dodged the pillow that flew across the bed.

Wes smirked. "I'd be offended, but you're the only one with something up your ass, except wait, you haven't gotten laid in _months_, and I'm seeing Em tonight. So have fun with your right hand, and I'll see you for dinner!"

Blaine stuck out his tongue and threw the pillow back at him. "Love you too, have fun at the office!"

"Try not to let the nasty fashion man get you too upset, and if he doesn't keep you right through the night how about we get chinese?"

"Mmm, sounds good. Can we get prawn crackers?"

Wes rolled his eyes fondly. "Yes, we can get prawn crackers. Now have a shower and put some clothes on, you smell like a brewery!"

Blaine reluctantly extricated himself from the blankets and started hunting round in his drawers for some underwear.

"Blaine…" Wes called from the kitchen. "Did you try to make a fried egg sandwich when you were drunk?"

Oops. He'd forgotten about that.

"…maybe?"

There was a second of silence.

"You're lucky you're cute, you know."

* * *

Blaine arrived at work on time, half asleep and smelling of strawberry shower gel rather than stale alcohol. He'd checked. Twice. He muddled through the morning, and thankfully noticed that the bitchy reply to Mercedes' email asking how his head was had the wrong address in the bar before he sent it to the head of design at Miu Miu.

He was sending up a prayer to God, offering to never drink again if this headache would just go away, when Kurt strolled in, dumping a black military jacket and a McQueen skull print scarf on the desk. "Blaine, can you come through here?"

Blaine followed him into the office. Kurt couldn't stand interruptions while he was working, so they'd rarely been in the room at the same time. It was bland, impersonal, like all of the offices, with a standard desk, cabinets and chair. He didn't have any pictures or trinkets apart from a glass paperweight with the skeletal drawing of a car inside.

Kurt sat down behind the desk and looked up at him, launching into a monologue. His voice was rougher than usual, like he had a cold. "I need to see Martha about her feature for the new issue, set up a meeting tomorrow morning. Then contact Joshua and whoever else is involved, I'm pulling the accessories shoot forward to Monday and I'll need the negatives no later than Wednesday. Oh, and tell Jacob that if he doesn't get the Lana Del Rey interview written up by this Friday I'll fire his scrawny backside. And if he makes one more comment about one of the girls, I'll sue him for sexual harassment and then fire him anyway." He rested one elbow on the desk and rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Leave that last bit out."

Blaine nodded, making a mental note. He'd always had a good memory, if you counted being able to recall long pieces of dialogue from movies after only hearing it once. The skill was finally coming in useful.

Kurt crossed his legs and leant back in his chair, sighing. "Good. I suppose you weren't a total waste of my time after all."

Blaine had to keep himself from smiling at what was probably the single most backhanded compliment ever, and he thought he saw Kurt's lips twitch upwards too. "Anything else?" he asked. There was always something else.

"Have you made reservations for dinner with Donatella at that place she likes?" Blaine nodded again. "Good, good. Check with Santana if she needs you to collect the samples from DKNY while you're out. Oh, and the receipt for the set fittings is here, you need to take some information off it for accounts. You'll need the serial number, dates, all this here…"

Blaine came round the side of the desk and leant down to see the places that Kurt was indicating. His head was right next to Kurt's and he could smell his cologne, clean and just a little musky, like the smell of rain. He could see a few hairs which refused to cooperate with his perfect style, just below his ear. They were fine and almost white, and Blaine was suddenly seized by the need to touch them, to see if they were as soft as they looked.

Kurt shuffled uncomfortably in his chair and the moment ended. "That should be all they need. And, um… can you see if Jean Georges has any strawberries when you pick up the salad?"

"I… of course." He stepped back, away from the cocoon of scent which enveloped the few inches of air around Kurt's body. He felt lightheaded, like the fragrance was making his thoughts sluggish. He knew he must be gawping right now, but then Kurt was turning and their eyes met, and he couldn't think for a moment.

Blaine looked away first. He knew his hangover was making him act stupidly, and he had to snap out of it before he did something he'd regret. To calm himself down, he mentally ran through the list of tasks, making a note of who he needed to contact first and which jobs could be left until later. He was used to it now, and normally he was pretty good at making sure everyone was in the right place at the right time, although not nearly as good as Santana. There's something about a fabulously dressed, 6 foot 2 (with heels) tower of barely concealed rage that persuades people to turn up to meetings on time. If Kurt was a tyrant, Santana was his chief enforcer, and she relished the challenge.

Blaine took a deep breath and he felt a little bit saner. He started to leave, and he was halfway to the door when Kurt spoke again.

"You know it's the formatting meeting for the next issue a week on Friday?"

Blaine turned around. "Yes." He'd noticed the gradual rise in productivity, not to mention stress, in the time since he'd started working. It seemed that everyone worked on a month-long cycle, from lazing around and shopping online (although that could tenuously be called 'research') just after the magazine went to press to 16 hour days as the countdown until the new issue was published began. It sounded completely unsustainable, but like with so many other things about the magazine, it just about worked.

Kurt had turned to his computer screen. He had two spots of colour high on his cheeks. "Make sure you're there. You never know, you might learn something."

* * *

Blaine finished off a few errands, then spent the entire walk to the restaurant clutching at his head, drawing a few worried looks from passers-by. He'd ignored the thudding against his skull all morning, and it was back with a vengeance. Something about his grimace even caused Puck to leave him alone while he waited; perhaps it was sympathy. He knew he must look like he'd been dragged backwards through a hedge. He hadn't drunk that much in a long time, and his body was complaining. He'd seen dead people with more color. Well, on TV at least.

When he arrived back with the usual box of salad and a punnet of strawberries, he found a little bottle of aspirin on his desk, and a note written in neatly slanted handwriting.

_You look like death. Take two of these every four hours._

Blaine put the note down and picked up the bottle, grinning. It rattled as he turned it to look at the label: standard aspirin. He glanced back at the note, rereading the message and following the curves and loops of the letters. His headache didn't seem quite so bad anymore.

* * *

**Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**I honestly can't believe the response I've got so far, thankyou so much to everyone who has reviewed, favourited and alerted :) It makes me want to write pretty much constantly, which I guess is a win-win situation!**

**Anyway, shit's gonna go down this chapter...well, not really. You'll see!**

**Warnings: PG-13**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own anything much, except for an obscene number of shoes**

* * *

By the time he got home that evening he was ready to collapse. By 7.30 he was already half-asleep, when his phone beeped with a text.

**From: Wes**

**Going to be about an hour late, sorry! My boss is an asshole. We can get takeout?**

He smiled and sent a quick message back.

**To: Wes**

**Pizza! **

His phone beeped again.

**From: Wes**

**You are an infant. See you in a bit.**

**From: Wes**

**And as long as it's Hawaiian.**

He wandered into the kitchen and immediately put away the jar of pasta sauce he'd optimistically take out of the cupboard. The last time he'd tried cooking they'd had to throw the pan away, and he'd been on strict toast and scrambled egg duties ever since.

He pulled out his laptop to kill an hour on the internet. He was sure Wes would prise the laptop out of his hands when he got home, so he wouldn't be on YouTube for six hours straight again. He tapped his fingers against the keys while it was warming up. He'd always typed out messages to himself when he was younger, safe in the knowledge that only he and a half-asleep computer would ever hear them.

_Hello_

…

_My name is Blaine _

_Wow, that was original, Blaine_

_I'm having pizzaaaaaaa!1!1!1_

_Wes is taking aaaages_

_I'm bored now_

_The only time I'm not at work and I'm bored_

_At least Satan's not breathing down my neck_

_She's scary…_

_Even scarier than Kurt_

_Less hot, though_

_Come on, you're typing it into a turned-off computer, I think you can admit it now_

_Ok, so he's hot_

_And gorgeous_

_And sexy_

_And beautiful_

_And I really want to know what his lips taste like_

_I bet they taste like candy_

_Maybe that's a bit far_

_Ok, change of topic_

_Pizza!_

_God, I'm inventive._

_Ho, hum…_

_Oh, you're going to turn on now, are you?_

_Took your time_

_Lazy ass_

He pulled up his internet browser to go onto Facebook, but something about that little blinking cursor in the search bar seemed to be goading him. It was like it wanted him to search…

"Oh, alright, then!" he muttered, typing _Kurt Hummel_ into the box and hitting enter.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting, really. Maybe a website called 'Kurt Hummel: Serial Killer and Fashion God'. He didn't even know what else he thought _should_ have come up. Every result on the first page was directly related to Vogue or fashion, but then of course they were.

He clicked onto Wikipedia and scrolled down to the Early Life section. Born in New Jersey…attended such and such a high school… moved to New York in 2007, aged 20… The next entry was on his time as an assistant editor in Elle. He'd somehow thought there would be more. The words on the screen could belong to anyone.

He went back to the results page and flicked over to images. The first few pages were shots on the red carpet, at fashion shows, at parties. His boyfriend stood by his side in nearly every picture, an unwavering fixture throughout the years he'd been in New York. He didn't seem to have changed much over the few years; he still had the same stupid, floppy blonde hair. He hardly seemed like Kurt's type – not that he knew what Kurt's type _was_. He pictured him with someone with dark hair, someone less obviously muscly.

Blaine hesitated, then searched _Sam Evans._ The pictures that popped up were almost all the same; this function and that party. He scrolled down 3 or 4 pages until he started reaching photos of random people on Flickr.

He nearly groaned in frustration. He had no idea what he was looking for, he just wanted something – some sort of proof that Kurt was a real, tangible person. He wanted evidence that Kurt was just as human as Blaine was.

His mind flashed back to the joke of an IT course he'd taken in his freshman year of college. He couldn't make a spreadsheet for the life of him, but he still occasionally used the tips for search engines.

He typed in _Kurt Hummel –Vogue_, hoping to find something not related to his career. There were a couple of videos, a blog called 'KurtHummelButNice' – he snorted at that one – but nothing else. Nothing to suggest a life outside of the magazine. He'd heard no one could live without leaving an internet trail these days, but Kurt seemed to have managed it.

He tried _Sam Evans –Kurt –Hummel_ to check he wasn't going crazy. Sure enough, a Facebook profile popped up, along with the website of a high school in Ohio. He clicked on that and scrolled through a few posts from an archive from 2004. It seemed to be the yearbook, and he flicked through a few photos of cheerleaders until he spotted Sam in a group picture of the football team. He appeared again a couple of pictures later, with his arm around a pretty blonde girl in a cheerleader's uniform.

Wait, _what?_

He read the caption. _Sam Evans and Quinn Fabray_. The sound of Kurt's voice came back to him from the conversation he'd overheard a few days ago. _"Sam will be just fine, he's seeing Quinn all this week and over the moon about it."_ Blaine was well aware he'd gone past creepy after the first Google search, but he couldn't help but think… it sounded almost like…

"I'm home! That man is such a douche, I'm sure he kept me just because he noticed I was fidgeting to leave! God, the minute someone offers me a salary I'm going to be out of there! Em's here too by the way, hope that's ok. You'd better answer me, or I'll think you've died… Blaine?"

Blaine closed the laptop and put it on the table. "Bad day, huh?"

Wes shrugged his jacket onto the couch and rolled his shoulders stiffly, then wandered into the kitchen. "You have no idea. I'm having trouble remembering why I ever wanted to do law. Too many suits, not enough cases."

"Well, as the resident fashion guru, suits are very in this season," Blaine said absentmindedly.

"They are?" Emma asked, coming into the room and collapsing into the armchair. "Ugh, heels. The only legal form of torture."

Blaine shrugged. "No idea. You don't think I pay attention, do you?"

She rubbed her feet, wincing. "I thought your fabulous boss might have rubbed off on you, but apparently not… Blaine, you're _blushing!"_

He turned away quickly. "No 'm not."

"You are!" she shrieked delightedly, her pain apparently forgotten. "You… you like him!"

Blaine scowled and shuffled around in his seat so his head was burrowed into the cushion. "Do not. Leave me 'lone." Wes came back into the room with a beer. "Wes, your fiancée's bullying me!"

"Am not!" she exclaimed. "It's you who won't talk to me!"

Wes wrapped his arm around her. "I'm with Ems."

She gave him a peck on the cheek. "There's a good fiancé." They were still in the phase where the word was a novelty, and they seemed determined to use it as often as possible.

Blaine buried his head further into the couch so only his hair was visible. "'Course you are. Gang up on me, why don't you?"

He just laughed and asked Emma "Why are you bullying him?"

"He has a crush on his boss," she said nonchalantly. "Can you get me a beer?"

"His boss as in Kurt Hummel? The scariest man he's ever met? The guy who makes him walk for nearly an hour every day just to buy him lunch?"

"The very same. Now how about that beer?"

Wes turned to Blaine, disbelief etched across his face. "Do you really have a crush on him?"

Emma huffed and marched off to the kitchen herself. Blaine squirmed a little. "No, I don't, not really…"

"Oh my god, you do!"

Blaine shushed him. "Come on, he's an attractive man!"

"That's true!" Emma shouted from the other room.

"Of course I'm going to think he's… appealing…"

Wes was still staring at him like he was wearing his underwear on his head. "Yes, as well as _scary_."

"I think you might have mentioned that already," Blaine sighed. "I do _not_ have a crush on him, ok? He's just…intriguing."

"Intriguing?"

"_Yes_, intriguing. Now where's my pizza?"

"You're not getting out of it that easily!" Emma came back in and threw a takeaway menu at him. "You think he's attractive, and appealing, and intriguing…"

Wes looked at him pityingly. "Man, it _has_ been a while since you've gotten laid."

Emma nodded encouragingly. "Yeah, you should find a cute guy who doesn't tear you to shreds twice a day, let loose all your sexual frustration…"

Lalala! I'm not listening! Don't want to hear this! Lalalalalala…"

Wes was looking at her admiringly. "I love you, you know that?"

She grinned contentedly. "I know."

Blaine looked up when they suddenly went quiet to see them kissing slowly. A takeout menu hit Wes on the back of the head. "Oi, lovebirds! I'm starving!"

In the end Wes managed to break up the margherita vs. pepperoni fight that broke out (Emma preferred it plain, Blaine held that no meal was complete without something that once ran around a field) by promising that they could have one each. Emma and Blaine spent the rest of the evening glowering at each other, and she was too pissed off over his inferior taste in pizza toppings to tease him. For a while, at least.

* * *

The whole magazine was busy preparing for the formatting meeting on Friday. This was the meeting where each department fought for more space, more features, more exposure in the new issue, and then, according to Tina, the nails would really come out. The writers had all suddenly realised that _that_ article was due in in three days, and were racing around drinking litres of black coffee and shouting at their assistants. Blaine had always assumed that magazines were quietly well-run, with staggered deadlines and a well-thought out system to assign spaces to each feature.

He hadn't accounted for a company bursting at the seams with over-inflated, underfed egos.

Kurt was clearly becoming more and more stressed. He'd barely touched his food over the past few days, and his eyes were red-rimmed with tiredness. Blaine had to bite his tongue not to say anything. He was so used to taking care of his friends, it was strange not to be able to do the same to this man. He was as exacting as ever to the stream of people who came through his office, but in the rare times he was alone he seemed to relax, almost imperceptibly slumping in his chair and softening his mask into something a bit less like a machine and a bit more human. He started to speak differently to Blaine, too; sometimes it was like he'd forgotten that he was supposed to be being rude. Blaine took that as a sign that he'd been accepted as part of the life of the magazine, and he felt a little bubble of something warm in his chest at the thought. He felt almost protective over Kurt now, as ridiculous as that was. Kurt seemed younger when the aloofness and armour was stripped away a little bit, and he was almost just another overworked young man. Almost.

Despite this, it was clear how he'd earned his reputation. He still came in at ten every morning, but he arrived with a notebook full of scribbles, sketches and ideas, with notes for Blaine on which to type up or scan and send to individuals. He worked tirelessly during the day, and he somehow managed to draw some sort of coherency from the tangle of ideas, demands and excuses thrown at him by just about everyone.

Blaine respected Kurt more than ever, and he was just about ready to murder everyone else. Maybe the hairspray had gone to their heads, he remarked idly at lunch.

Mercedes snorted. "I think they were all crazy to begin with. You'd have to be to work here."

Blaine looked affronted and gestured at himself, muttering something through a mouthful of pasta.

"Oh, you. You were desperate, it was this or TV guide."

Blaine shrugged and swallowed with difficulty. "That's true. What's your excuse, then, Tina?"

"Can't I plead insanity?" she laughed.

"Nope," Blaine said. "That works for 'Cedes, but you have more sense." Mercedes punched him on the arm and Tina smiled.

"Believe it or not, I actually quite like working here." She paused. "Ok, maybe I am just crazy. I always wanted to write, but then I was in the assistant's job, and then I got pregnant and…" her face took on the dreamy expression Blaine had come to associate with her pregnancy. "I suppose it didn't seem so important any more, to fight for an article or a promotion. I don't mind it here, and of course I love you guys." She winked. "But it's more like something I have to do now, so that I can have the life I love with Mike and our baby. All the backstabbing and the bitching, it's just not important to me anymore."

Blaine and Mercedes were staring at her.

"That's…beautiful," Blaine sniffed. "You're going to be so happy, Tina. You'll be a wonderful mom. I… I only hope I have what you do, one day."

Tina giggled. "You're such a hopeless romantic, Blainers."

"Yeah, well," he said, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. "The way you put it, it makes life seem so much more meaningful. Writing an article about shoes or interior design doesn't really have the same effect."

Mercedes pouted. "Even if they're really pretty shoes?"

"Even then," he grinned.

She looked him up and down. "You know, you're not bad looking."

He felt slightly self-conscious under her appraising eye. "Er…what?"

She sounded like she was sizing him up for slaughter. "I mean, you've worked here how long? Three weeks? And in that time you haven't had a single date…"

"Three weeks isn't _that_ long!"

"It is in Manhattan," she concluded grimly. "Seriously, have you not seen Sex and the City?"

God, she _was_ trying to get him killed. He'd tried the gay scene when he'd first arrived in New York, visiting the bars and clubs and fending off the advances of scarily forward guys who wanted one thing only and knew how to get it. "Of course I have, I'm a self-respecting gay man, after all. But I don't want a date so I can just have an affair and then start all over again."

"Blainers, an affair is what married people have when they cheat. What _we_ do is get laid."

He was blushing even more now. "I don't want to get laid!" He looked around at the faces staring at them. "Oops. That was a bit loud, wasn't it?"

Mercedes shrugged. "I'm just saying, you should have a bit of fun."

"God, you are _so_ much like Emma sometimes," he hissed. Mercedes had already demanded that they meet Emma, Wes and David, and they'd agreed to go to a karaoke bar sometime. Blaine was dreading it. Emma couldn't wait. "I don't want to have a bit of fun! Why is it so hard to understand that I might actually want a meaningful relationship?"

Mercedes opened her mouth to answer but Tina cut her off. "Good for you. 'Cedes, men do occasionally look for commitment. I know they're about as common as ten inch cocks, but…"

Blaine gasped. "Tina! You're a married woman, you're _pregnant_… oh my god, the baby didn't hear that, did he?"

Mercedes just giggled. "He 's going to…"

"He or she!" Tina interrupted.

"Alright, he _or_ _she'_s going to be scarred before they even leave the womb."

Tina sat back, grinning. "He or she will be just fine. But Blaine, seriously, if you're getting broody I will love you until the end of time if you fancy helping out with babysitting in a few months…"

"Sign me up! I love kids."

Mercedes scowled. "Hot, nice, smart, likes kids and _gay_. Just my luck."

Tina snorted into her drink as Blaine preened a little. "'Cedes, you've just given Blaine the big 'go get laid' speech, I really don't think you can complain. Your bedroom's like a train station, the number of men who go through it."

Mercedes just sniggered. "Not just the bedroom. That guy I met in Milo last week, we did it in the…"

"The baby!" Blaine yelped. "Stop it!"

She laughed. "God, Blainers, you're such a prude. It's so cute it's funny. You can be my best boy, ok?"

"And you'll always be my favourite girl, 'Cedes. Actually, Emma's scarier so I'll probably have to make her my favourite. But you're joint top!"

She rolled her eyes fondly. "You're such a dork. And as long as I'm still in your top 5."

He clasped a hand dramatically over his heart. "For you, always."

* * *

**So, has anyone worked out what's going on? I have no idea if I'm being subtle or not, you might all already know! The next chapter is the big meeting, and I can't wait for you guys to read it!**

**Reviews are like Klaine kisses: infinitely adorable, and I squeal every time I see one :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**I honestly can't thank everyone enough for your review, they make my day.**

**Warnings: PG-13**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Glee or The Devil Wears Prada, although the story is quite removed from the film/book by this stage so I probably don't need that bit anymore. But I already wrote it, so meh.**

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Blaine was relieved when Friday finally came around. Tina had warned him that it would get even more hectic before the issue went to print, but he couldn't wait for one more road block to be out of the way. And Kurt _had_ asked him to come to the meeting. That had to mean he was in his good books, right? This meeting could only be interesting.

That's what he'd thought.

How could they still be arguing over one paragraph of text? Beauty was divided, with makeup wanting to comment on the model's eyeliner in a 'hair' piece, and hair fiercely defending their territory. They took it all so seriously, you'd have thought lives depended on it.

They'd been bickering for nearly an _hour_.

And before that two stylists had nearly gotten into a catfight over whose turn it was to write up a shoot on pyjama-style trousers. Jacob Ben Israel had submitted an article on completely the wrong topic, and was now slouching in his chair, sulking after the tongue-lashing he'd received from Kurt. Blaine had almost enjoyed that, actually. For a start the man was a pervert and he was pretty sure he verbally harassed the women he worked with, but mainly because when Kurt got angry, two spots of colour appeared high on his cheeks and he looked like he could take down monsters without getting a hair out of place. Damn, that was hot.

They were sitting round an oval glass conference table with high backed, black leather chairs. It looked a bit like an evil genius' subterranean lair, but it wasn't exactly comfy. He was sat at the bottom end of the table next to someone from accounts and the intern, who'd already been out four times to fetch coffee. He was clearly not considered essential to the proceedings. Santana was sat on Kurt's left, doing very little other than inspecting her perfect manicure and occasionally offering an unhelpful comment to whoever was speaking.

Rachel Berry, a five-foot tall whirlwind of compressed sound, had given a heartfelt ten minute speech on why the culture section should write more about Broadway. Kurt listened to her, the tiniest hint of an amused smile on the corner of his lips, before he coolly told her that the odds of that happening were somewhere approaching zero. Then Advertising, god, weren't they the life and soul of the party, had spent well over an hour presenting a PowerPoint presentation of our clients, after which a bidding war had started over who had their articles next to which advert.

It was like living in a jungle, except with more lip gloss.

"…and the photos were taken specifically with the intention of putting the hairstyles in the optimum lighting, so they're clearly not suitable…"

Blaine had a tickle in the side of his mouth, and he had to lock his jaw to stop himself from yawning. They'd been here for close to 9 hours. _Literally_. Mercedes wasn't even here, so he didn't have anyone to make empathetic faces at. His ass had gone to sleep about 6 hours ago, and had briefly regained feeling when they'd had a half hour break for lunch but was now well and truly numb. He'd been pretty much the only person who touched the buffet. He'd already loaded his plate up with little triangular sandwiches when he realised everyone else had taken a couple of leaves of salad, a bit of fruit and the occasional lump of cottage cheese. It was a serious waste of good food, so he took it upon himself to eat as much as possible, so it wouldn't be wasted. They had crayfish and rocket rolls, for God's sake! He'd been living off a student's budget, then as a might-as-well-be-unemployed person! He'd only just started on his smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel by the time everyone else had finished. Actually, it had taken most of the afternoon to finish off all of the cakes.

"…ridiculous! Feedback clearly shows that makeup is more important to 58% of our readership…"

He had pins and needles in his right buttock, and he desperately wanted to scratch it. He shuffled around in his chair a bit to try and shift his weight off that side of his body. Kurt glanced down the table at him, and they made eye contact. Blaine could see his own boredom and frustration reflected back at him, although Kurt's expression was as collected as it had been at 9am.

"…two other articles just in this issue and the technique is hardly revolutionary…"

And now he needed to yawn again, and he could feel his face contorting as he fought to stop it showing. He glanced back at Kurt, who looked like he was suppressing a grin.

Kurt looked away and stood up. "Martha, Amy, I'll speak to you about this on Monday. It needs resolving, but it's six and we're losing productivity. Come to my office at ten, and I'll make a decision. Everybody else, you know the drill." Chairs started to scrape back, and Blaine figured everyone else was as sick of the sight of each other as he was. Kurt started to speak again, and the noise dropped immediately. "I need final drafts in my inbox by Tuesday, except for the Guatemala shoot, Mark, add in my notes tomorrow and I need the final copy by Sunday morning, and by that I mean when _I _wake up, not whatever hour _you_ roll out of bed. Liz, make the changes to the font on those headings and email them to me by tomorrow, I'll go over them and give you the ok by tomorrow evening."

Blaine shoved his notebook full of doodles into his bag and stood up to leave.

"Blaine, would you stay behind for a while? I need you to take some notes for me."

He groaned internally, but sat down in the seat to the right of the head of the table and took his notebook back out. "Sure."

Kurt smiled gratefully at him, and that sentence was _so _wrong. Kurt was never grateful, he expected the best as his due. He smiled snarkily, or sarcastically, or bitchily, but he didn't smile _gratefully_.

What was even more worrying was that Santana was giving Kurt a knowing look. Blaine might only have been here a few weeks, but when Santana started to give out significant looks, he knew that it wasn't good. She tossed her hair over one shoulder, eliciting a whimper from Jacob, who stood behind her, and walked out with the usual swing in her hips. Jacob nearly went into shock, and scurried out after her.

The door closed behind the last person, and Kurt let out a long breath. "I thought that would never end."

Blaine laughed, half in shock at the fact that Kurt Hummel – _the_ Kurt Hummel – had spoken to him in an almost friendly way!

Kurt smiled at him, a little less guardedly than before. "Do you mind staying? I could really use someone to talk things over with, you know, to get my head round it."

He had a…choice? "Yes!" Blaine said quickly. "I mean, no…no, I don't mind. So yes, I'll stay…yeah."

He wanted to bang his head against the table for that little speech.

"Right! Great, that's…great," Kurt replied. "I…good. Um. So. I was thinking we could shuffle the eco fashion article back a bit, and put the 'American in Paris' piece first. There's nothing of substance in there, but we've got some gorgeous shots of the city. I want to move the Syria article forwards, too, it deserves a bit more exposure. And then the 'lace' shoot needs to be closer to the front, no, that won't work…" he rested his chin in one hand, leaning on the desk. "I need to write this down. Can I use that notebook?"

He opened it to the first page and saw the few scribbles that Blaine had jotted down at the beginning of the meeting, and the picture of a seven-eyed alien at the bottom. He actually giggled, and honest to god, Blaine thought his heart was about to burst at how adorable he looked, flicking the pages of the book past doodles of cups of coffee and trumpets and flying saucers and bowties.

"Um, wait…"

But Kurt had already turned the page to a cartoony scribble of him, wearing an angelic smile and a halo, and Santana, with devil horns and a tail. He let out a burst of laughter, and Blaine grinned involuntarily at the hand that flew to his mouth, as if shocked that he'd made that sound.

"Why are you like this?" Blaine asked, then realised what he'd just said. Oh god, he was going to be fired, he would never work again, Kurt would make sure of it, why did he never bother installing a brain-to-mouth filter?

Kurt looked at him strangely, as if he was trying to see right through him. "I don't know," he said quietly. "I… I guess I don't have to be difficult to make you try. Everyone else needs keeping in line, but you… I figured out that I don't need to be. I don't want to be rude to you." He sounded surprised with what he was saying, like he was only just vocalising something he'd always known abstractly. "I'm not actually a horrible person, honestly. But with everyone else, if I want the best out of them I have to be demanding. When I was little, I told everyone I wanted to be the editor of Vogue. They all laughed at me, or smiled patronisingly and told me they were sure I would be one day, so now I'm here… I guess I don't want to prove them right. I want to be the best I can be." He shook his head. "Sorry, you don't want to know this. You're easy to talk to."

Blaine shook his head quickly. "No, I… I wondered, I mean, you're young to be such an influential person… don't get me wrong, I think it's incredible. Look at me, I'm only a couple of years younger than you and I'm your assistant, your _junior_ assistant."

Kurt laughed at that, still with the same puzzled expression on his face, like laughing was a new concept to him. "What did you want to be when you were younger? I'm guessing it wasn't working at Vogue."

"Well, of course I had the train driver phase, then I wanted to be an astronaut for a while, then I think it was a cowboy. For a year in middle school I wanted to be Kermit the frog. But it was Vogue that made me want to be a writer." Kurt was watching him, meeting his gaze intensely. "Later on I decided that I wanted to work for the New York Times, or Time, or something equally grand. Something my father would be less embarrassed to tell his colleagues about than if I worked at a fashion magazine." He didn't know why he was still talking, even less why Kurt was listening, but he was still staring at him with the same rapt concentration that he'd never seen before. "But I… I grew up in Ohio." There was a sharp intake of breath from Kurt and Blaine looked at him quizzically before carrying on. "They weren't exactly accepting of… me. I mean, that I liked to sing was bad enough, but reading Vogue made me even more gay than I already was." He grimaced at the memory and dropped his gaze, but he could feel Kurt's eyes still watching him with something like sympathy. "I used to read it in my bedroom, I had a whole stack hidden under my bed. I wanted to be one of the people who made beautiful things like that."

He looked back up at Kurt's face, and he saw the glitter of a tear in the corner of his eye. But then he blinked, and it was gone.

"I… I never thought it would be like this," Kurt confessed. His voice was so much softer than Blaine had ever heard it, and it was beautiful without the artificial severity that Kurt added to his normal speech. "I was so fixated on succeeding, on becoming someone important, that I didn't realise how much I was missing. I hardly ever see my family. I can't have a private life." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "But then the new issue comes out, and I see it on the newsstands and I think, _I created that_."

Blaine was gazing at him, entranced by the way his hands moved when he spoke. "Nobody else could do it, you know," he murmured.

Kurt laughed harshly. "Plenty of other people have done in the past, and they will when I'm gone."

Blaine frowned at his tone, trying to put what he meant into words. "No, it's not that. You've only been here a year, but already… people talk about Vogue, but what they mean is Kurt Hummel." He was struggling to articulate what he knew was true. "You can see your influence on the magazine. It's more respected, it has more articles about current affairs and politics and social issues. You've stopped treating women like idiots," he concluded bluntly. "Vogue's not a fashion magazine anymore, it's like… it's like a little black book for the thinking woman. It's everything you need to know about the world, fashion and culture, rolled into one." He paused, taking in Kurt's expression. "What?"

Kurt was watching him with a cross between wonder and disbelief. "Nothing… you should be running our marketing department."

Blaine laughed self-consciously. "I don't know about that. I just admire you. You've done something to change the world in a small way. I… I don't think I'll ever do something like that."

Kurt cocked his head to one side. "I wouldn't say that. I think if you found something to fight for, you'd hold on and never let it go."

Blaine met his gaze again, intimidated by the honesty in his eyes. "I'd like to think so," he almost whispered.

Kurt didn't reply, just kept staring at him with such openness that Blaine felt like he was trying to bare his soul. Eventually he sighed and leant back in his chair. During the conversation he'd shuffled forward towards Blaine until he was on the edge of his seat. "You should go. I'm sure you have someone waiting for you at home."

"I…yeah," Blaine said, still dazed. "I mean… my roommate," he verified. Kurt had made it sound like a boyfriend, and for some reason he didn't want Kurt to think that. "Just my roommate. He'll be wondering where I am."

Kurt nodded, avoiding looking him in the eye. "Yes. I should… I should go, too." He paused. "Do you think… would you mind if we met again on Monday? To talk through the formatting, you know…"

"Yes," he said quickly. "That… I'd like that. If it's helpful to you, I mean. I'm learning a lot," he finished, and in another world, another lifetime, he might have meant something different by that last sentence.

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**So... yeah :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**If you've seen the spoilers, I've been listening to Cell Block Tango and Boy Next Door on repeat, I can't wait for the next episode! Crossed fingers for Kurt...**

**Warnings: R rated for a wee bit of not-too-smutty smut**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine, but it's my birthday coming up, so I'm expecting Ryan Murphy to give me the rights to Glee as a present. I'll keep you posted!**

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When Blaine woke up the morning, it was to the sight of sticky sheets twisted around his ankles, and a hazy memory of green eyes with yellow flecks, sparkling in amusement, and the scent of cologne. He quickly threw his bedding in the washing machine and sat watching the drum turn, round and round, until he was dizzy and his eyes had gone unfocused.

He spent the rest of the day hanging around the apartment, sulking about the fact that his own subconscious had betrayed him. Yes, Kurt had opened up to him, an event which he hadn't quite processed yet, but that didn't mean he suddenly had the right to think about him like…_that_. Unfortunately, his dreams seemed to have a different idea. In the end he pulled a fresh blanket onto the couch and started watching the third season of The Big Bang Theory from the beginning. At about 3, Wes opened the front door to find him with his legs pulled up to his chest and his chin resting on his knees, glaring at the TV screen.

He dropped his keys onto the kitchen counter and wandered into the living room. "What's Sheldon ever done to you?"

Blaine glanced up. "Hmm?"

"You look like he killed your mom or something." Wes flopped down onto the couch next to him. "Seriously, though, that's the last time I ever go to the gym. I stink, I ache, and I burnt about 200 calories. That's like one hot chocolate. So not worth it."

Blaine shuffled round so he was facing him. He'd barely even been watching the last couple of episodes. "That's why you should never do exercise. Stay on the couch at home, like me!"

Wes slumped diagonally across the seat, head lolling back. "Mm, but then I'll get fat like you."

Blaine poked him in the side where he was ticklish, and he creased up. "Stop it, I'm – ow! – stop it, I'm sorry!"

"You should be," he grumbled, curling back into his previous position.

Wes rolled his eyes. "Try to sound more lively, I dare you," he said, laying on the sarcasm.

Blaine shot him an offended look. "What? It's a Saturday."

"So it's your day to do something you enjoy!"

"But I enjoy watching TV!" he moaned. "I'm a big boy, I'm allowed."

Wes was completely unsympathetic. "You look like the living dead. Dude, get up. Open the curtains. At least put some clean underwear on!" He ignored the glare he got in response. "Fine, be a lazy ass. Just remember we're going out tonight with your friends, I can't exactly turn up without you."

Blaine groaned. He'd completely forgotten that tonight was the night he'd agreed to introduce Mercedes and Tina to his friends. Thankfully he'd avoided the disaster that would be karaoke, but he really couldn't cope with having two of the most talkative people he'd ever met in the same room, not right now. He could barely cope with himself.

Wes stood up, complaining, and added "And seeing as you work at a fashion magazine, you might want to have a shower and put some actual clothes on. I love the superman pyjama pants look, but I'm not sure Karl Lagerfeld would agree."

Blaine's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "How do _you_ know who Karl Lagerfeld is?"

"I'm going to marry Emma, remember? I do occasionally listen when she starts talking about shoes, or dresses, or whatever." He took in Blaine's incredulous expression. "I do! Anyway, Mr Bowtie-for-every-day-of-the-week over here can't talk."

Blaine sniffed haughtily. "Bowties are cool."

Wes laughed at the reference. "Never say that again, you can't pull it off. Just make sure you're ready at 8! David's meeting us there."

Blaine sunk back into his stupor of mindless television, and in the end Wes had to pull him out of the apartment by the arm, still with his shirt half done up and his hair in a mess of curls. He roused himself a little as they caught a cab down into Manhattan, determined to enjoy himself. It was ridiculous that he let one conversation get to him like this. He'd discovered – what? That Kurt was human? It wasn't like he didn't know that really. Maybe it was the proof that Kurt was actually just like him.

Except he wasn't. Blaine had done well for himself over the past few years; he'd gotten into an amazing college, he'd worked his ass off to get a good degree, and he'd kept searching for work, even when he was turned down every time. But his achievements were nothing compared to Kurt Hummel's.

He'd come from… where? Nowhere, really. He hadn't had any contacts in the industry, no friends to smooth his passage into a job. He'd got where he was today by persevering, by fighting his way past the people telling him 'no' to become somebody respected by everyone who knew of him. He was a leading figure in his industry, and he was only 25 years old. He was unique, one of a kind.

He decided to put it out of his mind. He was seeing his friends, the least he could do was to be social. Plus, he would have to make sure that Mercedes didn't scare David too much. She had a tendency to hone in on any single men in the immediate vicinity, and as much as he loved Mercedes, he wasn't sure David could quite handle her. He tended to go after softly-spoken hippy types, and she… let's just say, you'd have to get more than a couple of vodka cokes into her before she'd swap her stilettos for sandals and listen to whale music.

Emma was waiting for them outside the club, holding her bag over her head in a pointless attempt to stay out of the fine drizzle that had started to fall. She tottered over to them the second the cab pulled up, pouting adorably.

"Hurry up! I've been out here for, like, 5 minutes already, and my hair's going to go funny!"

She dragged Wes inside while Blaine paid the driver, then followed. It was busy inside, full of the young and beautiful dressed in their finery and chatting elegantly over cocktails. The whole room was minimalist, with plain white walls, a black glass bar and industrial-style lights hanging from the ceiling. It was… Blaine struggled to come with a word apart from 'pretentious'.

Wes disappeared off to fetch drinks and Emma led him over to a booth, where Mercedes was talking ten to the dozen at David, who looked distinctly uncomfortable in his jeans and sweater ensemble amongst the designer outfits. This didn't seem to bother Mercedes, who was looking at him with the predatory eye she gave all her potential conquests. Great, now he would have a heartbroken friend to deal with, after Mercedes inevitably slept with him and then ignored his calls until he got the message. She really shouldn't be allowed out in public.

She looked up when they approached. "Blainers!" Blaine could almost see Emma filing the nickname away, and he resigned himself to the fact that she was going to get on with Mercedes like a house on fire. Together, they'd be unstoppable.

Tina was sitting on the far side of the bench next to her husband, Mike, who Blaine had met a couple of times before. He greeted them and lapsed back into his lethargy. He just couldn't quite muster the energy to be sociable right now. Not that he was needed; Emma had engaged Mercedes and David in conversation about something or other, and Tina chipped in with something that made them all laugh. Wes reappeared with a tray of drinks and slid onto the seat next to Emma.

It looked like they were the only really relaxed group in the building. Why the hell was everyone so poised, like all the time? Did they really feel the need to impress their friends with how elegantly they could sit, or sip a cocktail, or fake-laugh? The whole thing was so _vapid_. Blaine couldn't help but watch the people around him. The girl in the metallic dress sitting at the bar: why was she here alone? Had she been stood up, or had she come on her own with the intention of changing that? The man in the dark blazer and genes talking politely with the woman in the emerald green slip dress looked like the stereotypical first date couple, but would they make it to a second? The man was leering at his partner's breasts, but was that a deal-breaker, or was she just looking for a good time too? The tall, dark beauty in the impeccably tailored jumpsuit, chatting with her friend in a little black dress over martinis had a disdainful expression on her face: was she thinking the same as Blaine was? Or was this crowd not chic enough for her?

He shook his head, cracking a smile at his own morbid train of thought. For God's sake, he sounded like his father, and that was something to be avoided at all costs. He probably worked in the same industry as half of the people in here, he couldn't act too superior.

He's just never understood it. Why would you subject yourself to this ridiculous ritual of seduction, of flirting and chatting up and approaching strangers, all for a meaningless half hour fuck?

And that was probably why he was going to be celibate for the rest of his life. Knowing his luck, he'd probably get arthritis in his wrist or something. Then he would really be screwed.

Of course that train of thought led into dangerous territory about what he, ahem, hadn't needed to do that morning, and he was thankful when he was sent to the bar for another round. He was only halfway through his beer, but he suddenly felt the need for something stronger. At least he didn't have work the next day this time round.

He leant against the bar, waiting for the attention of the guy serving. Spending the day on the couch hadn't been good for him, and now he just felt more tired than ever, despite the music. He ran a hand through his hair subconsciously, trying to work up the energy for a bright smile when the barman came over. "Hi, can I have two Cosmos, three beers, a lime and soda and… uh, I'll have a Bacardi and coke. Double."

The man nodded and started to mix the cocktails, when Blaine heard a voice behind him. "Bad day, huh?"

He turned around to see a tall man with dirty blonde hair and green eyes smiling at him with gleaming white teeth. He was distracted by the sheer falseness of the teeth that he forgot to answer for a second. "Oh… yeah, I guess."

The smile didn't change or waver for a second. "Now what could be bothering a guy like you?"

Blaine had to stop himself responding with 'the crappiness of your pick up lines'. That was the sort of thin Kurt would say, he thought to himself with a small smile, which the other man seemed to take as encouragement.

"I bet I could make you feel better," he offered arrogantly. "My name's Alex."

Blaine stared at the hand extended towards him, then took it firmly. "Pleased to meet you, Alex. I'm Blaine." He put on his own smile, the one that made the coldest hearts turn to butter and barmen give him free drinks they'd never intended to. He rarely used it, mainly because it was as fake as a 34 dollar bill but also because it felt plain rude to manipulate people like that. He leaned in closer to Alex, blinking up through his lashes and nearly purring "Do you think you could do me a little favour?"

Alex's smirk widened and his voice lowered. "I'm sure I can, and then maybe you could do me a favour in return."

Blaine laughed quietly. "I'll be sure to respond in kind."

The barman slid the finished drinks towards him and took the bills out of his hand. Blaine murmured his thanks and turned back to the man facing him. "Help me take these drinks over to my friends." Without waiting for an answer, he took the tray with the beers and sodas and started weaving around people back to the booth. He put them down carefully and turned to see a disgruntled Alex following him with the cocktail glasses.

"Thanks _so_ much," he murmured, smiling once again up at the man. He didn't like using the smile, but cocky assholes were an exception. "It was nice to meet you." The other man didn't even bother replying before he stormed off.

David and Mike were staring at him in confusion, whilst the girls were in fits of giggles.

"God, his face was priceless!" laughed Tina. "You're good at that, I was swooning for a minute there too!" Mike shot her a mock-offended look and she reassured him with a swift kiss. "But then I remembered your hair gel addiction. I could never love a man who got through more product than I do."

Blaine scowled at her. What was the world coming to when even Tina started teasing him?

Emma was coughing daintily after trying to laugh through a mouthful of cosmopolitan. "What did that guy do, anyway?"

"He hit on me," Blaine explained, feeling vindictively triumphant.

Emma laughed even harder, but Mercedes was eyeing him like he was insane. "That's it? Blaine!"

"What have I done now?" he protested.

"He was hot! Why did you turn him down?" she asked, seeming genuinely astonished that he hadn't headed straight to the bathroom for a quick blowjob with the random stranger.

"Um… because I don't want to have sex with him?" Under the force of her glare, that didn't seem an acceptable answer.

"Why not? You're single, you're not crushing on anyone… oh my god, you totally are! You have a crush!"

Blaine interrupted her. Emma had looked up sharply when Mercedes said that, and a look of comprehension was dawning over her face. Was it too much to hope she didn't remember the conversation they'd had the other week, when she accused him of liking Kurt?

The understanding was morphing into an evil smirk on her face. Who was he kidding, of course she remembered. That woman could sniff out gossip like a police dog in a crackhouse.

"I am _not_ crushing on anyone, Cedes. I just have no desire to have meaningless sex with random men, we've been through this!"

Tina giggled. "He's right, we've already had this conversation."

Mercedes leant back looking sulky. "Fine, fine. Just waste the best years of your life being a monk, why don't you?"

"I plan to," he said primly, and promptly changed the conversation to the first thing that popped into his head. Which was the Transformers movie. Emma was still giving him that knowing look, but he ignored her in favour of listening to the full on bromance developing between Wes and Mike as they debated the probable merits of Transformers 4 versus its predecessors. Blaine was lost after the first couple of sentences, but he kept nodding along until he was sure Emma had given up staring at him and had started chatting with Tina. David had drawn Mercedes back into conversation, and she had gotten to the flicking-hair-back-and-laughing-at-everything-he-says level of flirting. God help the poor man. Blaine certainly couldn't rescue him now; he could see the dazed look in David's eyes which meant that he was already convinced he was in love with her.

This happened about once a month with David.

Blaine shook his head and went back to listening to the incomprehensible movie discussion. He understood it more than he understood his friends, at any rate.

* * *

He remembered the dream this time. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but everything felt sharper, more intense. He could feel silky fingertips tracing lightly up his spine and brushing against his sides. He could taste the other man on his tongue, sweet with a hint of something like spices. He could feel the weight of a hand splayed against his stomach and the drag of nails down his ass, the pressure of a hand wrapped around his cock and the jolts of sensation that shot through his body. He could feel the sharp pain when the other man bit into his neck softly, and the arousal that shot through him as he sucked and bit at the abused skin. He could hear his own low moans, loud in the quiet room, and the sharp intakes of breath from the other man. He could feel hair brushing his neck, just below his ear, and he could feel himself leaning into the sensation. He could feel himself shuddering, arching off the bed, and always he could feel those hands, exploring his body, running down the curves of his torso as he heard his own cries absorbed into the silence.

The dream was dark, alternating between clenched shut eyes and dim light, illuminating nothing. As he descended from his climax, he saw those eyes watching him unblinkingly, stormy blue and green chasing each other across the irises.

He woke up drenched in sweat and feeling more lost than he could ever remember being.

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**Please review! Your reactions are what motivate me to churn out these chapters!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Warnings: PG-13**

**Disclaimer: I still own nothing except the plot I've forced upon our poor unsuspecting Glee characters... mwahahaha.**

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Blaine couldn't wait to get back to work on Monday. He needed to see Kurt, to reassure himself that the whole thing hadn't been a product of his overactive imagination.

When he walked into the building he was almost surprised to see that everything was exactly the same. The receptionists were still as blandly attractive, the atrium still as tastefully minimalist, the people around him still as disdainful as ever. For Blaine, everything about the magazine seemed intrinsically connected with _Kurt_, and it felt wrong that the environment around him was the same when Kurt was so different.

He was kept busy for the first hour or two dealing with tens of frantic emails asking Kurt for just a few days longer to finish the article/illustrations/graphics. Blaine replied in the negative to all of them, and was just responding to a particularly obnoxious reply when Kurt walked in.

He looked tired, yes, but when he turned to Blaine and smiled, he was _glowing_. His whole face lit up, and Blaine had to take a sharp breath because god, normally he looked stylish and fierce and sexy, but today he looked _beautiful_.

"Erm…hi…" Blaine stuttered, and then blushed, because Kurt was still his boss and he was still making a fool out of himself.

Kurt just smiled even wider and handed him his navy military jacket. "'Erm, hi' to you too," he said teasingly, and Blaine was pretty sure he could feel himself melting into a puddle on the floor where he stood.

He tried to reengage his brain. "You have the sample spread for the spring makeup shoot on your desk." There, that sounded professional. At least he didn't sound like a toddler anymore.

Kurt nodded. "Thanks." He paused like he was going to say something else, but then he nodded again and went into the office.

Blaine sat back, feeling like he'd done six rounds with Mike Tyson. Why did Kurt have this effect on him? He'd had boyfriends in the past, nice, relatively good-looking men with decent careers and the same taste in music. They'd all been sweet, even charming, and he'd enjoyed his relationships with each of them, but none of them had ever made him feel quite so _much_ as he did with Kurt. The simplest conversation made him feel nervous, the most insignificant glance made him shiver, and the smallest gesture made him feel like the happiness would burst out of his chest. He wanted to talk to him, even just to look at him, to marvel at his melodic voice and the perfect curve of his jaw and the deliciously sarcastic comments that came out of his mouth. He wanted to find out every tiny detail of his life, if only to try and understand how a human being could be so incredibly perfect.

That wasn't weird at all, was it?

He barely got any work done for the next hour or so, procrastinating as much as he could by refilling his stapler, reorganising his in-tray and making four cups of coffee. Despite the fact that he could feel himself all but sweating caffeine his mind was a complete blur, and he almost forgot to head out to Jean Georges on time. He was fighting with the sleeve of his coat, which didn't want to let his arm in, at the same time as heading for the elevator when he heard Santana call out behind him. "Hey, hobbit! Wait up." He turned around, to let her catch up, still trying to untwist his jacket from where it was tangled around the strap of his bag.

Santana took one look at him and snorted. "You're not in kindergarten, surely you've worked out how to dress yourself by now?"

He glared at her until she continued. "Don't bother going out today, I've sent the intern. He was trying to chat up Brittany, it was pissing me off. I don't think she could even understand what he was saying, he has an accent like he's got a mouth full of cum… oh, don't blush, you're so freaking virginal."

Blaine was beetroot red and trying to avoid her eyes at all costs. "Um, ok, can I go now?"

"I guess that depends on whether I want to keep torturing you. Is this your orgasm face, by the way? Because seriously, no wonder your right palm looks chafed."

Blaine spluttered, trying to come up with an answer, any answer to that, but she carried on. "I should do this more often, it's fun, but unfortunately I have to go scare some models into submission. Honestly, where would you all be without me?" She sighed and sauntered off, leaving Blaine in the middle of the corridor, wondering, like so often when he talked to Santana, what the hell had just happened.

He headed back to his desk, wondering what to do with the hour he'd unexpectedly gained. He could always do the jobs he'd spent the last hour avoiding, but where was the fun in that? He sat down at his computer and noticed the 13 new emails he'd received. Ah. That's what he was going to do. He wrote out the shortest possible replies to them, but there always seemed to be more. What did people do before email? Did the assistants and advisors have a queues carrier pigeons waiting to be replied to?

"Blaine?"

His head shot up to see Kurt standing right in front of him, smiling amusedly. "Oh, er, yeah?"

"Would you… I mean, would you mind giving me a hand working out the advertising space? Maybe we could do it while we have lunch?" He sounded so unsure, like he was certain Blaine would say no.

As if Blaine could ever say no. "Oh, yeah! Sure! Um, yes, I'll… yes!" Eloquent, Blaine. You should go into after-dinner speaking with a vocabulary like that.

Kurt beamed. "Great! Santana asked Rory to get another salad, just in case you, um, said yes."

This had to be the weirdest situation Blaine had ever been in. Kurt was asking him to do his job like it was a… oh. Was this a very tentative sort of date? He decided not to press the issue. He was going to have lunch with Kurt, on their own… he smiled. He could pretend it was a date, at least.

He grinned widely. "Just let me finish this email and I'll be right in."

When Kurt was gone he pulled out his phone and sent a quick text.

**To: Mercedes, Tina**

**Sorry, gonna have to bail on lunch today, I have to work**

The replies arrived thirty seconds later.

**From: Mercedes**

**What, is the devil making you work through your lunch break? **

**From: Tina**

**Poor Blainers **

He smiled at Tina's text and replied to Mercedes' quickly.

**To: Mercedes**

**Meh, it's not too bad. See you 2moro xx**

He quickly shut down the windows on his computer and shoved his papers into a draw. His phone screen flashed with a new message.

**From: Mercedes**

**Rather you than me! Later, boo x**

He laughed at her reply. 'I'd rather it was me, too,' he thought, and followed Kurt into the office.

Blaine sat down in the chair across the desk from Kurt. "So…" he said, just as Kurt said "Well…". They both laughed and Kurt leant forward on his elbows, his hands splayed across his cheeks.

"This is awkward," he murmured, and Blaine nodded in agreement. Kurt looked up again. "Right. Um, I'm going to put my cards down on the table." He took a deep breath. "I think you're nice, and… I'd like to be friends. You're smart, and I could use your help with the magazine. You're too good to be answering phones and photocopying… although Santana tells me you still can't actually do that."

Blaine blurted out "It's not me, it's that ridiculous machine!" Then he remembered the first, much more important part of Kurt's speech. "But yeah, I'd like to be friends." He met Kurt's gaze. "A lot."

Kurt looked like someone had just told him every day was Christmas. "Great! Uh, I was actually serious about giving me a hand with the adverts…"

"Yes!" Blaine almost yelled. For god's sake, was he going to act like this much of a fool around Kurt every time he saw him? "Uh, yeah, sorry. I'm just enthusiastic about… adverts…" Oh dear. Apparently he was.

Kurt just giggled at him, and fuck, wasn't that adorable? "Jeez, Blaine, relax." He reached out to rub his hands up and down Blaine's forearms, and sure that would be a comforting gesture if it hadn't been the first time Blaine had ever actually _touched_ Kurt. As it was, goosebumps erupted over his arms and he could feel a tremor pass through him.

"Are you cold?" Kurt looked concerned.

"No! I'm just… imagining being cold." Was that really the best he could have come up with?

"Er… why?"

Blaine tried to think quickly. "…because it helps me think better?" he said innocently.

Kurt just nodded, but Blaine was pretty sure he was looking smug when he turned away for a second to grab a file full of mock-ups of the adverts and the articles they would place them around. "Ok, this is what we have to work with."

He opened the file and pulled out sheets and sheets of paper, while Blaine looked on in dismay. "How in hell do you work this out?"

"Well, we have some brands which pay specifically for space right at the beginning, that's usually designers like Prada, Dior, Louis Vuitton. Ralph Lauren are paying us a fortune for the flipside to the front cover with a fold out, so we know where that goes. We also have Lancome, Chanel, Gucci, Armani, the new Balenciaga… they all go in the first 20 pages or so. That's half of the adverts done, the rest we just place in between articles."

Blaine nodded. "Ok, so which order to the articles go in?"

"Well that's the problem. The long photoshoots go at the back, along with the cover interview and any personality articles. Beauty's right at the back, and we put short articles near the front with most of the adverts."

He glanced up at Blaine, who looked sort of lost. "So… the juicy bits go at the back?"

Kurt laughed loudly, and Blaine thought the people outside might be calling the cops; Kurt Hummel _never_ displayed emotion, especially not enjoyment. "Yeah, something like that. Now, see here…"

He was explaining the concept behind the scrapbook pages when Santana rang through on the intercom. "Kurt, I have Caroline Herrera on line 1. She's flying from Dubai to London today and she wanted to discuss Autumn/Winter with you."

Kurt bit his lip, looking torn. "Tell her… tell her I'm in a meeting, she should call me again when she lands."

"That's going to be in 7 hours!"

"That's fine."

Santana sighed down the phone and rang off.

Kurt looked back to see Blaine watching him curiously. "I… I have to get this done before this evening, to get it checked over before printing.

Blaine just smiled and asked him a question about one of the pieces, and the conversation turned back to the adverts.

They carried on working for nearly four hours, eating their lunch while they talked. It was… nice. Once he let himself relax, Blaine found himself enjoying just being in the same room as Kurt, listening to him explain the process and argue with himself over the merits of an article on the Museum of Modern Art. They ate their salads at Kurt's desk, still discussing the magazine and laughing over the piece of chicken that went flying across the room when Blaine tried to gesture with his fork still in his hand. The whole thing was so coupley that Blaine had to stop himself from actually flirting while they worked. Kurt made it incredibly difficult not too, with his perfect smile and sarcastic comments.

Blaine practically floated home in a haze of blissful inattention. He walked straight into an old woman on his way to the subway station, and had to walk quickly away before she started hitting him with her handbag and bemoaning the state of young people today. He missed his stop on the subway because he was too busy replaying the afternoon in his head and had to walk twelve blocks to get home, but he couldn't have cared less. Who cared if the guy he had a crush on was his boss? Kurt was so gorgeous that he didn't think he would've dared make a move anyway, and he wanted to be friends – that was about a million times more than Blaine had ever imagined happening between them. All in all, things were looking up.

He lazed around for a while, eating his way through a pile of toast and half-watching a recorded episode of Project Runway. He couldn't even summon up enough bitchiness to comment on some of the designs. He had the sudden urge to give to charity and adopt a giant panda. He wanted to share some of the ridiculous happiness that was bubbling up in his chest, and all because he was going to be friends with the most incredible, witty, sexy man that ever walked the earth. Maybe he was overreacting, but really, did it matter?

His phone rang and he picked it up without checking the caller ID. "Hello!" he chirped.

"Jesus, you sound happy."

"Emma, hi!"

"Seriously, did Katy Perry announce a new tour or something?" He could hear her trying to be sarcastic, but it was tempered with fondness.

"Yeah, yeah, very funny. Just because she's a goddess, we mere mortals mustn't be jealous." He could picture her rolling her eyes as he spoke.

"Whatever, just let me know when she's learned to sing."

"Emma! You wound me!"

Her laughter crackled down the line. "You'll survive. I was calling about something else, actually."

"What, you didn't call me just to insult Katy Perry? That's usually the only reason we speak," he teased.

"I call you to gossip too!"

Blaine grinned. "Ok, I admit that."

"Speaking of which…" Uh-oh. He didn't like the sound of that. "How come you couldn't meet Mercedes for lunch today?"

"Seriously, you've met _once_ and you're already gossiping about me?"

"Don't try and change the subject!"

"Well I told Mercedes, I had to work through lunch!"

"Doing what?" she challenged. "I know you, you're always ahead of your to-do list. What was so important today?"

"I… Kurt needed some help." He had to hold the cell phone away from his ear for a minute because of the high pitched squeals bursting out of the microphone. "Ouch, Em! I quite like having ear drums!"

She ignored him. "I knew it! And that's why you're so happy… I knew it!"

"Knew what? Emma, he's my boss, he's allowed to ask me for a hand."

"Yeah but he's not _just_ your boss, is he?"

"What? Of course he's just my boss!"

"No he's not!"

He sighed. "You're not making sense."

"Come on, Blaine, it's painfully obvious that you like this guy."

"I told you before, I just admire his achievements. Nothing more."

"Do you have to make this so difficult?" Emma asked exasperatedly. "I know you. You like him."

This was going to go badly whatever he did now. "Fine, I like him. So what?"

There was another, even more painful squeal. "So… I mean… just _why?_ I've heard what he's like!"

"He's not like that, not really. He's actually nice."

Emma sounded about as sceptical as you can get. "Really?"

"Yes! The bitchiness is just the face he has to put on at work, it's the only way most people will respect him. Really he's kind of sweet. We talked after the big meeting on Friday, and he said he felt like he could trust me."

There was a pause from the other end of the line. "Emma?"

She spoke quietly. "Wow, you really do like him."

"I only said a few words!"

"Yeah, but your voice…" Her voice was suddenly excited. "We have to plan this! Operation Designer-Boyfriend!"

"No! Come on, Emma, you know it's never going to happen. He's so far out of my league he's orbiting the moon."

"Don't do yourself down! You're handsome, smart…"

"And he's the most successful man in the fashion world, as well as being drop-dead gorgeous, funny, and intelligent. We're… I think we're friends, and that's all we'll ever be!" He cut off Emma's protest.

"Fine, whatever. I did warn you you'd get eaten alive working for that man!"

Blaine chuckled. "I don't think this is quite what you meant."

She laughed. "Yeah, I guess not."

"Emma… please don't tell anyone."

"What? I tell Wes everything." She sounded worried now.

"I know, but… I just want to figure out my feelings on my own before I have to start justifying them to other people."

She sighed. "I understand. I won't mention it. But if you need to, you can talk to me, ok?"

He smiled. "Thanks, Em. I appreciate it."

"It's the least a good hag can do! Bye, Blaine."

"For the last time, you're not my hag!" He yelled, but she'd already hung up.

Damn that girl.

* * *

**Reviews make me happy :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**The next two chapters were going to be one, but it just kept on going. This is still the longest chapter I've ever written!**

**Enormous thanks to everyone who reviews, you have no idea how much they mean to me. I should apologise, too - I'm terrible at responding to reviews, so responses are a bit erratic, but I do appreciate it so much!**

**Special thanks to inukimeko for her help finding somewhere for Kurt and Blaine to live!**

**Warnings: PG-13, mildish swearing and mentions of sex. Actually, I think I've been using swearwords the whole way through without thinking about it. Oops!**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine!**

* * *

Kurt sidled up to him on Friday afternoon. "Blaine, can I speak to you?"

Blaine followed him into his office. They'd spent at least a few hours together every day this week, editing the final copy of the magazine, and he'd realised that as soon as he stepped through those doors, Kurt dropped the bitchy-fashion-guy act and became the sweet, funny man Blaine had gotten used to seeing.

The new issue was finally done, and it had been sent to the printers the evening before. They'd be working like crazy for the next week, and the following Friday it would go on sale. It all seemed like so much effort, just to have to start all over again the next month.

Kurt was fumbling with something on the table behind him, and when he turned around was holding a Danish pastry with a candle sticking out of the filling.

Kurt started to sing Happy Birthday in a high, clear voice, and Blaine had to clamp his jaw shut to stop himself saying anything stupid because _wow,_ his voice was _beautiful_.

Where had Kurt go the idea that it was his birthday? It wasn't until November, so unless David had fraped him and changed his details again… except Kurt didn't have his Facebook.

"Um, Kurt, this is so sweet, but it's not my birthday."

Kurt just rolled his eyes, still holding the pastry in its cardboard wrapping. "Come on Blaine, what's the date?"

"The eleventh of May…"

"And what were you doing exactly one month ago?" he continued in the same teasing tone.

"The eleventh of April? I was… it was my first day here!"

Kurt grinned widely and offered him the Danish. "Happy one month anniversary!"

Blaine blushed at the _other_ insinuations of the phrase, and Kurt flushed a pretty pink colour when he seemed to notice it too. "Um, I mean…"

Blaine cut him off. "_Thankyou_, Kurt. This means a lot to me."

Kurt smiled widely back at him. "My pleasure."

Blaine took a bite and groaned at the rich flavours that flooded his tongue. The sweet, powdery sugar coated his mouth first, then the richness of the butter and the delicate flavour of the filling. "Oh my god, you got almond! Fuck, this is the best thing I've ever tasted!" He didn't even notice he'd sworn as he moaned again.

Kurt was now well and truly beetroot coloured, and shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Blaine!" he hissed. "Would you _please_ stop making sex noises in my office!"

Blaine turned bright red to match. A part of him wanted to ask him why, to see Kurt squirm adorably as he got flustered, and he almost started thinking about _other_ things he could do to get Kurt flustered when he realised. "Oh, you mean people might hear and presume… oh, I'm sorry! I don't think they'll think…_that_, though, people know you aren't… like that." _Santana would,_ he added mentally, but decided that wouldn't be helpful.

"What? Oh, yes. I think it's probably best to, um, keep the sound effects PG-13?"

Blaine laughed. "Scout's honour. Although this _is_ the best pastry I've ever had, just so you know."

Kurt was slowly turning more Kurt-coloured. "There's this little bakery near where I live that makes the best Danishes."

Blaine smiled. "That's so kind of you to think of me, Kurt. You know, keep going like this and despite what everyone says, you might not actually be the devil!"

Kurt shoved him gently in the arm and Blaine just stuck out his sugar-coated tongue at him, and he saw Kurt's eyes focus on it before he flushed again. He picked a scrap off the end and ate it slowly. "I told you, we're friends. Everyone else are just people I work with. Well, apart from Santana, she's more like a minion." Blaine snorted and Kurt grinned. "Don't tell her I said that. Mm, almond's my favourite. When I was little my mom used to make the most amazing almond cake, and they always remind me of her."

Blaine noticed something change in his eyes when he spoke about his mother, and he was silent for a second after. "Almond's my favourite, too."

Kurt snapped out of his thoughts. "Anyway, I was going to ask you something. There's a benefit tonight, and I was wondering… only, if you wanted of course… but I thought maybe you'd like to go with me? You don't have to, and don't say yes if you don't want to, I just thought of you, and…" He caught sight of Blaine's blank expression. "Of course you don't, it's your Friday evening, forget I said anything."

Blaine had in fact been admiring how adorable Kurt was when he was nervous, but he quickly corrected him. "No! I… I'd like to go. I've never been to a benefit before."

"Really? Great! Obviously you won't be expected to bid on a yacht in the Bahamas or anything. It's in aid of Coalition for the Homeless."

Blaine was confused. "That's not one of the charities on your official list, is it? I thought they were all fashion-related."

Kurt looked guilty for a second. "No, this one's something personal."

"Ok." He thought for a second. When Kurt had asked him, it had sounded a hell of a lot like… "Kurt, is this a… date?"

"No! I mean, no, we're friends, right?" He said quickly. "Well, I guess you'll be my plus one, but I…" He spoke firmly, but he looked down at his feet when he said "Just friends."

"I don't have a tux," Blaine realised a second later.

"Oh, that's fine, wardrobe will find you something," Kurt said casually. "What? We almost always do women's clothes, so we keep a few tuxes in case we decide we want to add a male model to a shoot in a hurry."

"Yeah, but I'm hardly model sized."

"Nonsense," Kurt sniffed. "You're as well built as any model I've ever seen." He looked away quickly. "Besides, it's only the women that are really tall. We often need men to be roughly the same height as the women, so there'll be something to fit you."

Blaine was still dubious, but he allowed himself to be shepherded out of the office and into the elevator to the fashion department while Kurt rang them to let them know. The doors were already shutting, the view of the reception peeling away between them, when he realised something that hadn't even crossed his mind.

_But what about Kurt's boyfriend?_

* * *

It took three hours before the fashion department let him leave. Three hours of suits, and slightly different suits, and a suit with a slightly thinner lapel, and a suit with a slightly longer jacket. Tuxes that were apparently a slightly different shade of black to the last one. Tapered pants, straight pants, matching pants, coordinating pants. Three types of freaking hair gel! He'd had to argue with one of the stylists for ten minutes before he stopped trying to pluck Blaine's eyebrows. They fixed his hair while he was there, apparently not trusting him enough to do it himself, and it was now in a gently waving style, much less severe than his usual helmet. Then they trussed him into his clothes and sent him on his way.

Wandering along the corridor towards the elevator, Blaine heard a noise, right on the edge of hearing. He walked forwards curiously, noticing that the vague thumping was coming from behind a door. Oh my god, what if someone was being assaulted? Shit, he was barely 5 foot 9, there was no way he could take on some beefy guy, but what if someone was hurt? What if a murderer had somehow got into the building? They could all die! It was going to be like Columbine, it was probably one of Kurt's ex-assistants, come to get revenge for his shoes being insulted too many times… what if he had Kurt in there?

Blaine steeled himself up to open the door, which was still emitting banging noises. He screwed his eyes shut, reaching for the door handle. _Dear God, please don't kill me…_

A long, low moan floated through the air, followed by a high-pitched giggle, and it took all of about half a second for Blaine to realise exactly what he'd almost walked in on. He backed away from the door quickly, horror stretched across his features. Did people actually do…_that_…at work? For a start, that's _so_ unhygienic, and a janitor could walk in at any moment, and just… oh god, he'd almost walked in on it! He might have seen a _vagina_. Unfortunately that put the image in his head, and he wished he could scrub his brain with wire wool.

The door vibrated, practically bursting off its hinges, and wouldn't _that_ be an awkward meeting, then stilled and Blaine heard whispers. He quickly headed off down the corridor, but the door swung open behind him.

"Hey! It's Blaine!"

He stopped in his tracks and cringed. Oh god, only one person sounded quite that cheerful all the time, and that meant that she must have been with…

"Seriously, hobbit, I didn't take you for a voyeur. If you wanted to listen, all you had to do was ask."

Blaine winced. "Hi Brit, Santana."

Santana sashayed forwards, wiping a smear of scarlet lipstick off the side of Brittany's mouth. "Woops, missed a bit." She turned to look at Blaine. "What are you still looking at?"

Blaine shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Um… bye."

"Bye Blaine!" Brittany called. "Come on, San, I want to get home and try out that new…"

"I'm right here!" Blaine yelled, hoping desperately not to hear the end of that sentence.

"…vibrator we bought the other day, it's so pink and cute!" Brittany continued as if she hadn't heard.

Blaine groaned and left them to it. It had gone strangely quiet behind him and he really, _really_ didn't want to turn around and see whatever it was they were doing. Knowing Santana, it could be anything.

He was still in a state of shock when he got up to the office.

"Blaine!" Kurt said happily. "Wow, you look…"

If Blaine had been more observant he would have noticed Kurt's jaw drop open an inch and his eyes go unfocused. Then he shook himself and carried on. "The driver will be here in a few minutes, I need to stop off at my apartment to get changed if that's ok… are you alright?"

Blaine sat down heavily. "I… I just… my brain…"

"Ah." Kurt sat down opposite him, looking sympathetic. "Did you see Santana and Brittany?"

He looked up in shock. "Yes! How did you…"

"I heard Santana on the phone to her half an hour ago. Anyway, I've walked in on them too many times to count. I know the signs." He rubbed his hand reassuringly down Blaine's back. "It's disturbing, isn't it?"

"I want to wash my eyes out with bleach," Blaine answered honestly, but his mouth was quickly going dry when he realised that Kurt was _touching_ him, and it was entirely innocent but it still sent little shivers down his spine. "Anyway, do I… do I look ok? I don't want to embarrass you on the red carpet."

"You look gorgeous! I mean, not that you don't anyway, but… I mean, you look sexy in a tux."

A smile crept onto Blaine's face. "You think I look sexy?"

Kurt's face went tomato-red. "Well, um, objectively speaking, you're a very attractive man, not that I would think about it because that would be unprofessional, but, um…"

Blaine had forgotten what he'd accidentally heard outside the janitor's closet. He forgot that he'd spent three freaking hours getting ready and that he hated suits. All he could think about was Kurt, still blushing but gazing into his eyes and Kurt thought he was sexy, he'd just said so, and he couldn't have looked away now if you'd paid him. He could see emotions running through Kurt's eyes and expressed in the smallest creasing of his forehead. He looked shell-shocked, then calm and happy, then anxious again.

What was it about the two of them? When they were in a room together, one or the other of them always seemed to do something or say something and then they'd be left watching each other, trying to work out what the other meant. It was like playing chess, watching the other, trying to read his thoughts and feelings. Blaine felt like he was playing a game, but he could only see the pieces directly in front of him.

What did Kurt want? He'd been this bitchy man, demanding and rude and picky, and then he'd suddenly become someone else, someone adorable and witty and charming who Blaine liked. Who Blaine couldn't help but like.

But they were still watching each other, trying to see past the shields the other had put up.

Kurt broke the eye contact first. "We should… the driver will be waiting for us."

Blaine nodded, and they gathered their things and walked to the elevator in awkward silence. The people who worked in the office usually left long after everyone else in the building, and they were the only people around. He pressed the button for the first floor, and the whirr of the machinery was added to the tension in the air.

The floor counter started to drop. _38…37…36…_

"Kurt…" Blaine started. "What about your boyfriend?"

Kurt turned to look at him. His voice was suddenly hard. "What about him?"

_33…32…_

Blaine pressed on. "Does he not mind that you're going to the event without him… with me?"

"He… Blaine, I…"

_28…27…26…_

Kurt took a deep breath. "I need to tell you something."

He looked so worried, so vulnerable, that Blaine had taken his hand in two of his own before he thought about it. "Ok."

_24…23…_

"I…" Kurt didn't pull away. He bit his lip and Blaine ran his thumb over his palm gently, enjoying the ripple of surprise that spread through Kurt. "I trust you, Blaine. That's why…"

_20… _The floor counter halted abruptly a second before the doors pinged. Kurt pulled his hand away like he'd been burned, turning to face forwards as the doors slid open smoothly, revealing a middle-aged man who nodded politely at them before looking away.

It was like a manual in elevator etiquette, the three of them descending in silence, Kurt and Blaine studiously not looking at each other. Blaine couldn't decide if he was imagining the tension in the air or not. How had the man not noticed yet?

_14…13... _

The doors opened again and a couple of women clutching files entered.

_12…11…_

He wasn't sure what Kurt had been about to tell him. Blaine had thought about the photos he'd found, thought about them far more than was healthy, actually, but the only conclusion he'd come to was that Kurt's boyfriend was bisexual or something. Maybe he was just closeted at the time; Blaine knew exactly what going to high school in Ohio was like, and the experience was enough to keep the most flaming of homosexuals in the closet for as long as possible.

_8…7…_

He wasn't sure he'd ever understand Kurt Hummel. He was an enigma, wrapped up in a paradox and shrouded in mystery, with whipped cream and a cherry on top.

_4…3…2…_

He'd probably never understand him, but Blaine was sure as hell going to have a go.

The doors opened into the atrium, and the elevator cleared around them. Kurt slid his cell phone into his bag. "The car's waiting outside."

"Will you tell me in the car?" Blaine asked hopefully. Kurt looked worried for a second and shook his head.

"No, I can't. I… I'll tell you when we get to my apartment."

The car turned out to be a black mercedes with tinted windows. The driver had the engine running quietly, parked on the pavement right outside the building.

"Are you even allowed to park here?" Blaine asked.

Kurt just smirked at him. "Perk of the job. Come on." The driver was holding the door open for him, and he slid inside.

Blaine rolled his eyes and slid into the car behind him, slightly less gracefully. The sat in silence again as the car pulled out into the traffic. Blaine started to feel uncomfortable again, and he started watching the buildings flash by out of his window, if only to avoid looking at Kurt. The sidewalk was busy with those who were leaving work late and those who were going out early, and the roads were as jam-packed as ever. This was one of the reasons why Blaine loved New York. The city was always busy, always moving, bright and vibrant and alive.

It was also the reason why he sometimes hated New York. Sometimes you can stand in the middle of a crowd and never have felt more alone.

He felt a hand brush his own, just for a second, and he turned to see Kurt flash a warm smile at him before they both went back to watching the world out of their respective windows.

* * *

Kurt's apartment building was on the Upper East Side. It was elegant, discrete and probably exorbitantly expensive. The foyer was cool and impersonal, with a polite concierge behind a long desk. It was a far cry from his building, Blaine thought ruefully. Where he lived in the bronx, the buildings were never more than a few storeys tall, and they usually looked like they were about to fall over. Here, he saw the buttons in the elevator went up to the 35th floor.

Blaine wasn't sure what he'd been expecting from Kurt's home, but it wasn't this. The living room was spacious, with cream walls on three sides and a deep red above the huge cast iron fireplace. A huge, floor to ceiling window gave a view looking out over the city. An eclectic mix of black and white prints in different sizes were framed on the walls, and a squishy, brown leather sofa, an armchair in blue and green brocade and dark wood, and a cream linen couch scattered with cushions in brightly painted silk were positioned around a modern glass coffee table. A massive gold chandelier hung from the ceiling, and an art deco lamp stood in one corner, next to a side table supporting a huge display of calla lilies.

It was disorganised and warm and _happy_, and Blaine immediately fell in love with it.

Kurt disappeared to get changed whilst Blaine flicked through the books on the coffee table. He put down a book of photos of South American landscapes and picked up the last month's Vogue, flicking through the photoshoots. He would be the first to admit that he wasn't the _most_ fashionable person in the world, but he could at least appreciate what went into the photos. Just to capture that one image of pale-and-interesting-model-#34 in a chiffon ball gown and biker boots, 10 or 15 people will have spent the entire day running around. It was beautiful, too. Impractical and pointless, yes, but beautiful.

How had he ended up here today? Kurt had asked him to come, so of course he'd said yes, being the brain-addled fool he was. He'd said it wasn't a date, but it certainly wasn't work. He'd still hadn't answered Blaine's question about his boyfriend, although Blaine had a sneaking suspicion he understood what that was about. And he'd brought Blaine to his home. Obviously they weren't going to _do_ anything – Blaine blushed at the thought – but Kurt had still shown him part of his life which, judging by the décor, was private. The Kurt from the office would have lived in a minimalist apartment, impersonal and cold and stylish.

Kurt reappeared from down the hallway, still doing up his bowtie, and Blaine had to remember to blink. He looked stunning.

Kurt sat down with a sigh on the couch, next to him, his bowtie a little crooked. Blaine reached forward. "May I?"

He nodded and Blaine straightened the tie, smoothing down the silky fabric. "There."

"Thanks."

There was an awkward silence for a moment, which Kurt broke. "I should probably tell you about Sam now." He took a deep breath. "Sam's not my boyfriend."

"I'd…" _Hoped_. "Guessed."

Kurt looked at him strangely. "You… how?"

Oh god, he was going to sound like a stalker. "I heard you talking to Santana about going for dinner with your family, and then she mentioned Sam and you said he was with someone called Quinn… I did some googling, and I found a picture of him with his arms round a girl. The subtitle said Quinn-something, so I figured… I didn't want to presume, though. He might have been closeted at the time, or… I don't know. Something. I'm sorry I listened to you guys."

Kurt nodded slowly, speaking half to himself. "That's ok, we should have been more careful. I hadn't thought about what searching for Sam would come up with. But then, you would never have known without overhearing us… I don't think anyone else would make the same connections."

"What… I don't understand."

"Sam was a friend in high school. When we graduated we both got into NYU, so it made sense to live together. Then when I started out in fashion, people expected me to have a date for things, and I didn't… I don't date, really. So I asked Sam if he would come with me to a party, just for moral support, but then people assumed we were a couple, and… we were living together anyway. He couldn't afford to live alone and people would have assumed _anyway_, so it made sense. Quinn was at our school too. She lives in Boston now, she's an attorney, so they only see each other when one of them flies out. It's tough, but they love each other." He grinned at the bemused look on Blaine's face. "It's crazy, but somehow it all kind of works."

Blaine laughed. "If you say so."

Kurt glanced at his watch. "We'd better go, we don't want to miss too much."

Blaine followed him out the door. "Kurt, did you say you were friends with Sam in high school?"

"Yes," he said distractedly, pushing the down button on the elevator.

"But when I saw that picture, he was at a high school in Ohio. Don't you come from New York?"

Kurt turned to face him. He was biting his lip, his eyes shifting all over the room except for at Blaine. "Blaine, I..." he started nervously. "That's a long story. I… I will tell you, but not… not today." He was still avoiding Blaine's eyes, anxiously twisting his fingers together like he was trying to hold on to something.

"Kurt?" Blaine reached out and grabbed his hand, gently pulling it away. He could see the pink crescents where his nails had dug into the soft skin. "It's ok. You can tell me whenever you're ready."

Kurt glanced up at him. "I… thankyou."

Blaine smiled reassuringly. "I trust you."

He started a little at that, and Kurt did too. That wasn't what he'd meant to say. He was going to say 'no problem', or 'take your time', or 'that's alright'. The words had just slipped over his tongue, he hadn't even been _thinking_ them. Where in the jumbled up recesses of his mind had that come from?

Kurt had gotten into the elevator and Blaine followed him. His poor brain couldn't quite cope with the torrent of information and evaluation it had had to put up with today, so maybe it was no surprise he was talking nonsense. He was heading out on a not-date with Kurt freaking Hummel, maybe it was no wonder he'd lost his grip on reality.

Kurt was frowning down at his phone, so Blaine took the opportunity to try out the words again. _I trust you_, he mouthed silently into the air. The machinery of the elevator whirred and clinked, and it sounded a little like applause.

* * *

**Reviews make me happy!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Part 2 of the evening. This is now officially the longest story I've ever written, and I'm only just getting started! Friday is going to be my standard posting day from now on, so that I can get a few chapters ahead and keep updates regular through the summer when I'm on holiday.**

**A huge thanks to the people who review every single chapter. It means SO much to me that you take the time to leave me feedback, and it's all so incredibly lovely! So thanks to Thoughts Of A Fallen Angel, youngandobsessed, inukimeko, HarlequinBears and lilithaofsherwood. Sorry if I've missed anyone off!**

**Warnings: PG-13 for mentions of drug addiction**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own anything. For the record, the charity 'Coalition for the Homeless' does exist, but it doesn't have an event like this one to my knowledge.**

* * *

It was only a small event, and Kurt had obviously planned it so that they arrived half an hour late. The few photographers had already left, and they just walked in, Kurt passing a ticket to the bouncer as they passed.

"They hold it in the actual shelter," Kurt whispered in his ear. "Everyone who's staying here comes too, so it's a lot of fun."

Blaine tried to ignore the way his stomach squirmed at the hot breath on his earlobe. "That sounds really nice."

Kurt laughed. "Yeah, nice pretty much sums it up. I always enjoy it, unlike most of the events I have to go to."

"Is that why you support the charity? I mean, it's not exactly your usual 'save the attractive' celebrity charity, and it's nothing to do with fashion."

Kurt mulled it over. "Partly, I guess. I started coming because it reminded me of something." Blaine shot him a look to say he couldn't get away with an explanation like _that_, and he giggled. "You look like a kicked puppy. When I was in high school, my glee club went to a homeless shelter one Christmas to sing. It was beautiful, the way this place gave a Christmas to people who had literally nothing. I can't go around singing now, it doesn't exactly fit in with my badass persona…" Blaine snorted at that. "…but I still wanted to support them, you know?" He shrugged. "Maybe it's just nostalgia."

Blaine smiled. "No it's not, it's…wonderful. Really. Nobody does things for charity except to make themselves look better. Believe me, I've seen my mother plan enough luncheons to know that altruism doesn't even come into it. It's nice."

Kurt laughed. "Nice?"

"Yep, nice."

They wandered into the hall, which was decked out with coloured paper streamers hanging from the walls, the ceiling, the doors, the windows… Blaine had a feeling the interior designer was under the age of 12. The cafeteria-style seating was covered in white linen table cloths and a mismatch of plates, cutlery and glasses. The whole thing was simply endearing.

Blaine nudged Kurt. "So you were in show choir too?"

"What, you too?" He sounded surprised.

"Dalton Academy Warblers."

"They're an acapella group, right?"

"Yeah, how did you know?" They weren't exactly famous, although they'd got as far as Nationals in Blaine's senior year.

Something flashed across Kurt's face, but it passed in a second. "Oh, I guess I must have heard them mentioned. God, I miss glee. I'd forgotten how much fun it was!"

Blaine laughed. "I used to love it. I hold the record for persuading the council into the most songs by female singers in a year. Thinking about it, that probably says something about me."

Kurt giggled. "I used to sing girls' songs too. My rendition of Defying Gravity is still talked about in hushed tones, or so I hear."

"You sang... wow, that's incredible! Did you do the high note?"

Kurt smirked. "I could sing that in my sleep."

"We would have killed to have you in the Warblers!"

"Well, people _have_ killed for me before…"

Blaine slapped his arm lightly. "Of course they have, darling."

Kurt narrowed his eyes playfully. "Don't patronise me!"

They sat down at a table, Kurt pointing out the people he'd met before. "The woman in the green dress is Sylvie, she's worked here for 3 or 4 years now. And you see the man in the corner? I met him last year, he was an addict. He'd only been here a few months and he was seriously suffering from the withdrawal, but they have a rehab program funded by the charity. Most people don't stay here that long, normally they either find work or end up back on the streets after six months or so. It's… it's difficult." Kurt looked disappointed. "I hate that these charities can't do everything."

Blaine agreed sympathetically.

"I just… I spend all day persuading people to buy things, and then I come here and see the people who can't buy anything. It's a shock, every time."

Blaine opened his mouth to try and reassure him, although he didn't know how, when he was interrupted by a timid voice.

"Um, Mr Kurt?"

A little girl with pigtails had come up to them, and Kurt squealed when he saw her. "Julie!"

A huge smile broke out on her face, which still had a few crumbs of chocolate cake attached to her chin, and she threw herself into his open arms. "Mr Kurt! Mommy said I could come and say hello!"

Kurt laughed breathlessly. "Sweetheart! Are you still living here, then?"

Julie squirmed in his lap until she found a comfortable position. "No, we got a new place a few months ago, and it's all ours!" she chattered excitedly. "It's got a couch and a oven and if I'm really good and I do my spelling practise mommy lets me have a cookie!"

Kurt smiled into the hair pressed against his face. "That's brilliant, Julie. Where is your mommy?"

Julie looked grumpy at having to give up her friend, but she answered. "She's talkin' with someone." She scrambled until she could see over Kurt's shoulder and yelled "Mommy! C'mere, it's Mr Kurt!"

Kurt winced at the blast of noise to his eardrum, and a woman in a pretty red top turned around and came over. Her skin was pale and careworn, but her smile belied her hardships. "Kurt! Oh, it's so good to see you."

"I hear you've moved out, Chrissie!"

Chrissie placed a hand protectively on her daughter's head. "Has Julie been talking about that again? She's so excited."

Kurt grinned. "So what are you doing now?"

"I'm working part time in a diner, but I'm taking night classes to become a nurse."

Kurt looked overjoyed. "That's so great, Chris."

Julie slid off his lap, growing bored of the grown up conversation, and came over to Blaine. "Hello. What's your name?"

"I'm Blaine. It's nice to meet you, Julie." He took her hand and shook it, and she struggled not to giggle at the gesture.

"Hello Blaine! I'm Julie, and I'm going to be an explorer when I grow up!"

"Are you, now?"

"Yes," she said proudly. "I'm going to discover the north pole and have a team of husky dogs, those are the ones that look like wolves but they aren't really, and I'm going to put the American flag there and then I'll be the President and I'll make it illegal not to like cookies."

Blaine had never considered himself broody, but in that moment he saw himself with another little girl with blue eyes, who would tell her daddy all about how she wanted to grow up to be a cowboy or Robin Hood or an alien.

"I always wanted to work in a supermarket when I was little," he told her.

She wrinkled her nose. "Why?"

"Because I thought that they lived behind the cash register, and I thought it would be like having my own little den."

Julie thought about that seriously for a moment, then grinned. "Yeah, that would be cool!"

She chattered away to him about her friends and her school for a while, then ran off when she saw another girl who had lived at the shelter at the same time as them.

"You're great with her," Kurt commented.

"She's adorable." He grinned. "Did you know she wants to be an explorer?"

"Oh really?" Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, and then she's going to be the President."

Kurt giggled. "She certainly has enough energy."

"It's nice though, seeing a little girl who doesn't want to be a model or a singer."

"She's been through so much already," Kurt said. "I suppose she wants to be in control of her own life, now."

"I kind of hope she manages it."

Kurt nodded absentmindedly. "Mm. Makes my dreams seem a bit pathetic. When I was her age, I wanted to be on Sesame Street."

They spent the next couple of hours meeting everybody. Kurt would talk to the guests, people he remembered and people he'd only just met, and Blaine would sneak off to dance with the kids. The first time Kurt realised he was gone he glanced around to see Blaine enthusiastically doing the Macarena next to a shy 8 year old who refused to take stop sucking his thumb to do the arm movements.

Later, they took advantage of the buffet and sat back down, chatting about the people they'd met; the staff and donors in Kurt's case, and in Blaine's case most of the children and a cat. There was a different dynamic here to the conversations they'd had at the office. Perhaps it was the informality of women in floor-length gowns perched on a plastic chair, chatting to a recovering drug addict, or the fact that everyone in the room was there because they were _happy_. It made Blaine light headed, despite the event not having any alcohol.

The music changed to something upbeat, and it took Blaine a second to recognise it. "Kurt! We have to dance to this!"

Kurt gave him a Look – the sort of Look that has a capital L. "I don't dance."

Blaine pouted. "Please?"

"No!"

"Pretty please?" he pleaded.

"Blaine…"

"Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

Kurt looked like he was wavering for a second, and Blaine took the opportunity to grab his hand and pull him up. "Come on, dance with me!"

Kurt grumbled something but Blaine led him onto the dance floor, revelling in the warmth where their hands were clasped. He stopped and stared pointedly at Kurt until he got the message and put his hand on Blaine's shoulder with a sigh. Blaine just grinned and slid an arm around his waist. "Don't worry, you can lead next time."

"There's not going to be a next time!" Kurt protested but Blaine just rolled his eyes and started to move them around the floor. He still had that ridiculous grin on his face, but he couldn't bring himself to care just now. Blaine couldn't actually dance, but that didn't really matter when Kurt was holding his hand tightly, like he was afraid it would disappear.

_So won't you please?_

_(Be my, be my baby)_

Kurt was a good dancer, keeping up with his erratic steps perfectly and smiling indulgently as Blaine sang along to the song.

_I'll make you happy, baby, just wait and see_

_For every kiss you give me, I'll give you three_

He made a kissing face at Kurt, who giggled, his nose crinkling, and wasn't that just the most adorable thing.

_Be my baby now_

_(My one and only baby)_

_Woah oh oh oh_

Blaine span them around and dipped Kurt, pulling him back up into his arms. He was laughing breathlessly, and when their eyes met again he couldn't look away. Blaine could see his own emotions reflected back at him, fondness and trust and something like adoration. Kurt's grin faded to a tender smile, and he just watched Blaine, more open and trusting than Blaine had ever seen him. He realised that his arms were still looped around Kurt's waist, pulling him in until their bodies were almost touching, but Kurt hadn't reacted to the touch so he left his hands there, fingertips skimming over the expensive fabric of the jacket as he brushed his fingers in tiny circles on the small of his back.

He hardly noticed that the song had ended and a slower one had come on until Kurt took a step back and held out his hand.

_Wise men say only fools rush in_

_But I can't help falling in love with you_

He took the hand with a smile.

"You said I could lead," Kurt said, resting his hand on Blaine's hip.

"So I did."

_Like a river flows surely to the sea_

_Darling, so it goes_

_Some things are meant to be_

They weren't really dancing, just shuffling in a slow circle. Kurt gently pulled their joined hands in to rest against his chest.

_Take my hand, take my whole life too_

_I can't help falling in love with you_

Blaine shut his eyes and leant in until they were dancing nearly cheek to cheek. He could feel Kurt's breath hot on his neck, and the feeling of his eyelashes brushing his cheek when he closed his eyes slowly. All he could focus on was the texture of Kurt's jacket brushing his knuckles and Kurt's hand joined to his, the light touch on his hip, and the music crooning in the background.

_I can't help falling in love with you_

_I can't help falling in love with you_

The piano faded out and Blaine leant away slowly, not sure what to expect. Kurt was gazing at him again, a small, shy smile on his lips, and Blaine suddenly realised. _I could kiss him._

He took in the faint flush on Kurt's cheeks, his breathtaking eyes, and his lips. _I could do it. Now would be the perfect time. I may never have another chance like this._ He looked up at Kurt, but he'd moved slightly and the moment was gone.

* * *

They left at about midnight, taking Kurt's car to drop Blaine off before Kurt went home, and they sat in comfortable silence, content just to be close for now.

Kurt was looking out of the window, watching the lights flash past, his hand resting on the seat beside him. Blaine watched him, biting his lip. _It would be so easy to reach out and hold his hand._ This was different to holding hands while they were dancing. Here, it would signify something. It would be a message, and a question. _I like you. Do you like me?_

As if he felt Blaine's eyes on him, Kurt moved his hand an inch further across the seat without looking away from the window.

Blaine slid his hand across the leather until the tips of their fingertips were brushing. He thought he felt Kurt shiver, but he didn't move his hand away. Slowly, Blaine slipped his hand underneath Kurt's, knuckles brushing over his palm, and laced their fingers together. Kurt's hand tightened slightly, and he saw his reflection smile into the tinted glass.

"Kurt?" His voice was loud against the quiet rumble of the car.

Kurt turned to look at him.

"Is this a date?" He asked for the second time that day.

Kurt nodded silently, lips pressed together, looking worried and hopeful at the same time. Blaine just smiled back, running his thumb up the side of their joined hands.

"So… what are we?"

Kurt looked down, his face pained. "Blaine, I… you're the only person I'm like this with." When Blaine looked confused, he sighed. "You know how I am at work. Everyone there thinks I'm a bitch, which is fine, that's what I chose. And then there are the people I've known since High School, people like Sam, and they know the person that I've _been_. But you… I've never been like this before. I've never talked to anyone like this, never forgotten who I was supposed to be playing." He made a frustrated huff. "I'm not explaining this right."

Blaine twisted in his seatbelt until he was completely facing him. "It's ok. Try again."

Kurt chewed on his lip. "I basically live as two personalities. There's how I am at work, and how I am in private, but I'm so focused on making sure that I don't slip up that I… I guess I'm still playing a part, even when I don't have to be." He used his free hand to quickly wipe away the tear that was threatening to escape. "But when I'm with you, I forget to pretend. It's the only time I don't have to _try_ to be myself, I just _am_."

He looked like he was struggling not to cry. Blaine unclipped his seatbelt and shuffled across the seat, using his free hand to rub Kurt's arm gently. "Shh, it's ok. You can tell me anything." He suddenly realised how true that was.

Kurt took a deep breath. "I can't be your boyfriend, Blaine. I can't take you out on dates and hold your hand at work and tell all our friends how happy you make me. I'm Kurt Hummel, devil incarnate, remember? I can't be in a real relationship and keep up that façade, it just wouldn't work. And you deserve so much more than that. You deserve someone who can tell the world that he's with you."

"No!" Blaine protested. "I don't care about that. I don't need fancy dates and PDA. I just… I just want you. You're worth it."

Kurt shut his eyes. "I'm not," he said, and Blaine had never heard him sound so lost.

He sighed. "Shall I tell you about my last boyfriend?"

Kurt looked confused, but he didn't say anything.

"I haven't dated much, I never really saw the point of being with someone who you didn't think you could spend your life with. When I met Sebastian, I thought I'd found that someone." Kurt made a noise of discomfort, but Blaine squeezed his hand reassuringly and continued. "We met in college, and he… he said he loved me. He said he'd never felt this way before. He told me I was his soulmate." Blaine shrugged slightly. "What could I say to that? I'm a romantic, and I thought that if I was his soulmate, he must be mine. I told myself that I must be in love with him too, and after a while I thought I was." He paused for a second, trying to phrase the next part in his mind. "But then… there were missed dates, and he'd cancel at the last minute and then switch his phone off for the evening. I ignored it, of course, because he'd told me he _loved_ me. It wasn't until I walked him on him with some guy from his creative writing course that I actually admitted it to myself. I was quite dramatic about it, actually. I started throwing his things out of the window onto the playing fields while him and that boy were still butt-naked." Kurt made a choked sort of laugh. "I went back to my dorm room, all prepared to cry my eyes out and watch Dirty Dancing until the cows came home, and then I realised I wasn't sad. I was pissed off, but I wasn't actually hurt. Sebastian never loved me, he just wanted to get into my pants, but then I realised that I never loved him either."

"I'm sorry," Kurt whispered. "Why are you telling me this?"

Blaine tightened his grip on Kurt's hand again, marvelling at the warmth that seemed to emanate from where their skin was pressed together. "Because I dated Sebastian for eight months, and I feel more for you in a week than I ever did for him."

Kurt's face broke out into a smile. "Me too."

Blaine wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. "So I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to give the answer for you, not for what you think _I_ should do. We don't have to tell anyone, or even acknowledge it at work, but we can still be together… in private, we can still have a relationship. Kurt, will you be my boyfriend?"

Kurt looked up at him, tears pooling in his eyes. "Really?"

"Absolutely." Blaine had never been more sure of anything in his life.

Kurt bit his lip, glancing down at their joined hands and back up. "Ok."

Blaine couldn't control the grin that spread over his face, making his jaw ache. "Ok."

* * *

They eventually pulled up outside Blaine's apartment.

"I had a really nice time tonight," said Blaine, before he realised how clichéd that was.

Kurt just giggled quietly. "I did, too." He hesitated, and when he carried on speaking his voice was lower and cracked. "I'm… I'm really glad you came. I know I can't be the boyfriend you deserve, but…"

"Hey, none of that." Blaine gently lifted his chin up with one finger. "We agreed, didn't we? I'd rather have _this_ with you than anything with somebody else. You're… Kurt, you make me feel so much that I don't even understand, but I don't care."

Kurt was watching him back, trust and happiness etched in the lines at the corners of his mouth and between his eyebrows. His chin was still resting lightly on Blaine's finger, and then he moved his head slightly so that Blaine naturally moved his palm to cup his cheek, thumb running lightly down his cheekbone.

_Do it. Kiss him._

He could see the question in Kurt's eyes, the challenge.

_Kiss me now._

Blaine leant forward slightly, then pulled away, taking his hand away from Kurt's face. He… he couldn't do it. Their first kiss should be beautiful, spectacular, by the fountain in Central Park, or under the night sky, or with fireworks in the background. It should be magical and a fairy tale and perfect. It shouldn't be on the backseat of this car, cramped and awkward.

"Goodnight, Kurt," he said softly, and opened his door.

He was halfway across the sidewalk when he heard the shout. "Blaine, wait!"

And then Kurt was heading towards him, hurrying round the car, and then he was right next to him and Blaine forgot to breathe.

"I forgot something," Kurt whispered.

Blaine swallowed. "What?"

Kurt smiled. "To give you this."

And then he was leaning in, one hand curling round Blaine's neck, the other round his waist. Blaine closed his eyes and then all he could feel was the warm pressure of Kurt's lips against his in a soft, chaste kiss.

His eyes fluttered open and Kurt was still there, smiling happily, his cheeks pink, although Blaine wasn't sure whether that was from the cool night air or the kiss.

"Goodnight, Blaine," he grinned happily, and then he was turning to leave.

The car pulled away and Blaine was left alone outside his building, standing in an empty street with one hand raised to his lips, where the memory of a kiss still lingered.

He'd known Kurt for four weeks, and the 'real' Kurt for seven days. Why was he so enchanted with this beautiful, determined, bewitching man? Why did it feel so natural to hold him in his arms? And why, for god's sake, later when he was in bed with the gel washed out of his hair and his tux hanging on the closet door, why could he still feel the imprint of Kurt's lips pressed against his?

_I can't help falling in love with you._

* * *

**I wanted to work in a supermarket when I was little. I also wanted to be an explorer who played the trumpet, a knight, and Robin Hood. Strangely enough, I also loved pink and party dresses. I was a confused child.**

**The songs used are Be My Baby by The Ronettes (you might recognise it from Dirty Dancing) and Can't Help Falling in Love by Elvis Presley.**


	10. Chapter 10

**I know I said I'd update on Fridays, but it's my birthday tomorrow (!) and I don't plan on stopping to think, no matter update! **

**Thanks to everyone who helped me with this chapter (you'll realise who you are!) and especially to themuse19 for her adorable contribution.**

**Warning: Small amounts of excessive fluff. Nausea may ensue.**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine**

* * *

It was the Thursday after – well, after everything had changed.

They'd exchanged texts over the weekend, short messages to make the other laugh. Blaine had texted him all the way through watching Fellowship of the Ring on Sunday night, Emma giving him knowing looks all the while and Wes completely oblivious, and they'd had an argument over the merits of Aragorn versus Legolas, Blaine coming down firmly in favour of Orlando and Kurt arguing for Viggo Mortensen covered in dirt.

Monday morning should have been awkward, when they saw each other for the first time since they'd spoken, danced, laughed, kissed. It would have been, except they'd both been beaming so hard that their cheeks ached and their faces threatened to split in half. Santana had just rolled her eyes and left them to it, muttering something along the lines of "nauseating eye-fucking".

The problem now was that Blaine had no idea what to do. Kurt was adorable, funny… and had made no move to kiss, hug or unnecessarily touch Blaine in the past few days. Blaine had ignored it the first few times, telling himself that they were at work, but they weren't seeing each other outside of work, either. During the week Kurt was rushed off his feet, and by the evening Blaine had to agree he'd rather fall into bed than go out. The more involved he became in the magazine, the more time it took. On Tuesday he'd gone to sit with Kurt while he had a coffee break, and he'd ended up sitting there for most of the afternoon, working his way through his inbox on his company iPad while Kurt flicked through books of sketches for the next season. Occasionally they'd chat for a few minutes, or just look up and make eye contact, smile and look away, but mainly it had just been nice to be in the same room, soaking up the feeling of company.

He wished, for a split second, that this was simple, that they could go out for a drink, or go to the movies and make out in the back row like teenagers, but he dismissed that thought in a second. If this was simple, it wouldn't be _Kurt_, and the thought of that was more terrifying than it should have been.

And so Kurt arrived that morning to a cup of coffee and a dopily grinning boyfriend. He was at least less anxious in the office, where few people dared intrude on the peace and quiet of the 'scariest man, like, _ever_'. Santana was waiting for them when they walked in, leaning against Kurt's desk and inspecting her perfect manicure with a critical eye. She looked up when they entered, uncrossing her legs lasciviously.

"God, Kurt," she drawled. "Just because he's fucking you into the bed now doesn't mean you can turn up late. Don't think I haven't noticed you this week. Honestly, you two spend all day skipping over the rainbow together."

Blaine honestly couldn't think of an answer to that. He opened his mouth, tried unsuccessfully to force a word out of it, and shut it again. Kurt, meanwhile, had turned an almost purple colour. "_Santana!_" he hissed. "As you know _perfectly well_, that's not true, and we've been _working_."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"San!"

"Whatever, Hummel." She stood up and sauntered out of the room. "By the way, Steerson from art wants to see you. Something about the vector art for the jewellery spread."

Kurt groaned. "Alright, tell him to come up."

Blaine followed Santana out the room and sat at his own desk while she called the other department. He had a few emails to finish and a preview meeting to organise, but his workload had mysteriously dropped over the last week or so. He had a feeling all of the day-to-day stuff was being dealt with by Rory, the overly helpful intern. He wasn't sure whether this was standard practise once the assistant had survived his first month, or if this was Kurt's influence, but he couldn't say he was complaining. It was a relief not to still be mediating the on-going beauty/fashion war that had only gotten worse.

Santana hung up the phone and perched herself on Blaine's desk. "So, hobbit."

"…yes?" Whatever Kurt said, he was still slightly scared of Santana.

"Let's put it this way. Kurt's my boy, ok? He might have a stiletto up his ass, but I look out for my friends." She leant forwards, smiling wickedly. "So I thought I'd let you know straight away. If you hurt him, in any way, shape or form, I have ways to make you wish you'd never been born. If you damage so much as a hair on that man's head, I will end you. I'm from Lima Heights – do you know what goes down in Lima Heights? Cosas _malas_."

She had an evil glint in her eye, and Blaine knew just how terrifying she could be when someone pissed her off. Richard from Accounts still ran the other way whenever he saw her coming, and it had been nearly three weeks since he called Brittany 'cute' in her hearing. The resulting monologue had been half in Spanish and the other half had been littered with expletives, but the gist of it was a very drawn out description of exactly what would happen to his balls if he made any sort of objectifying comment about her girlfriend again.

Blaine tried not to let his voice come out as a squeak. He didn't quite succeed. "I'm not going to hurt him. I care about him."

Santana looked him up and down appraisingly, the _they'll-never-find-your-body_ look leaving her eyes. "I know. That's why I told him to talk to you."

"Wait, what?" Blaine was confused, partly because half of his brain function right now was involved in trying to avoid her stare.

"You're not _that_ stupid. Do you really think shy little Mr-fashion-in-my-pants suddenly decided to throw caution to the wind and actually have a conversation with someone he was crushing on?"

"Well…"

"Don't be ridiculous! He was so obvious, poor thing, so I made him talk to you."

Blaine wondered idly whether he would ever stop feeling like he'd been hit by a steamroller when he had a conversation with Santana.

"Well, um, thank you."

She winked, a broad smile spreading across her painted lips. It was a bit like the smile a cat gives a mouse just before it pounces.

"My pleasure, hobbit. I'm sure you can repay the favour sometime."

Blaine gulped.

"And if you ever hurt him,I _will_ follow you to the ends of the earth in order to make your life a misery. I have the motivation and the mafia connections to do it, so don't think I won't."

* * *

"What about the orange shoes?"

"Blaine, there are eight different pairs of orange shoes on that shelf. Which ones?" Kurt called from a couple of rails down, where he was holding a pale blue dress up to the light thoughtfully.

"Erm, the… the heels?"

Kurt chuckled and came over. "They're all heels, which ones?"

Blaine gestured to a pair of Jimmy Choos with 2 inch platforms.

"They're not orange, they're _coral_. They might do with the pink Vuitton, though. I'll keep looking."

Blaine groaned and followed him around the corner. "We've already been looking for hours!"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Blaine, you work at a _fashion_ magazine. Get used to it!"

"Yeah, but I'm still not really sure what you're looking for."

"You know how spring was all about pastels?" Blaine nodded. He had picked up a thing or two over the weeks. "I always thought of them like conversation hearts – you know, sugary and sweet and innocent." Blaine coughed to cover up a laugh. "Well, most of them are innocent," Kurt grinned. "So I want to bring that into summer. The clashing colours, the sweetness but bolder, more confident."

Blaine nodded. "I get it."

"Think something like pop rocks. You know, bright but slightly muted, clashing, exciting…"

Blaine burst into giggles. "Exciting? Kurt, that stuff was like crack for kids."

"Fine then, like…oh, I don't know, like those push pops you get with three different colours. Clashing but classic."

"Perfect for blowjob practise…" Blaine ducked to avoid Kurt's smack.

"Those are kids' candy, Blaine!"

Blaine laughed and caught him round the waist, pulling him close and pressing a kiss to his lips. Kurt accepted it but then leant back. "We're at work, Blaine, anyone could come in here. You know that."

Blaine pouted but let go, walking off to pretend to examine another rack of 'pink: neon to blush' shoes.

He understood, of course he understood. This wasn't idle gossip they were worrying about, it was Kurt's career. It was his _life_. The repercussions if this came out would be huge. Kurt would have to deal with his ex-fake-boyfriend, and then the media attention would begin to permeate his life in a way he'd so far managed to avoid. He'd lose his privacy, there would be all sorts of speculation, and then when Blaine came into the picture… Blaine knew this, he honestly did. He just wished that made it easier.

Kurt followed him to the stand of hideous, fluorescent pink shoes. "I'm sorry." He tentatively reached a hand out, and Blaine took it. "I know I'm being a crap boyfriend."

Blaine shook his head, and he didn't have to force the smile that came to his face. "No, I understand. Just… how about we go out? This weekend?"

"I don't know…" Kurt chewed his lip nervously.

"How about this," Blaine offered. "I could come round to your apartment, and we could spend the whole day watching crappy movies and eating junk."

Kurt smiled happily, and Blaine had to remind himself that _this was real, he'd made that smile happen_. "Yeah, that sounds great."

They shared a smile, the sort of private, mischievous grin like they'd been caught doing something naughty, and walked on.

"I was never big on candy when I was little," Kurt commented as they wandered around. "I was always a chocolate kind of a kid."

Blaine laughed. "I can imagine that."

"The first time I tried a Reese's peanut butter cup, we were in the car and my mom passed me one to try. I must have been about five. Afterwards she asked me if I liked it, and I said it was ok but I didn't really like the brown bit." He grinned to himself. "Dad asked me why I didn't like the chocolate, and I told him I liked the chocolate, I didn't like the _other_ brown bit. Turns out I'd eaten the paper cup."

Blaine burst out laughing, trying to ignore quite how much his heart expanded at the thought of a miniature Kurt. "I bet you were the most adorable child ever. I used to get married to people with Ring Pops." He grinned cockily. "I was very in demand as a husband, I'll have you know!"

Kurt giggled, content just to be silly in the way that you only can be with someone you're infatuated with. "I'm not sure I want someone's cast off, especially not a serial ex-husband. How do I know you're not a gold digger?"

Blaine clasped his hand to his heart in mock indignation. "I resent that! I was a wonderful husband while it lasted, but it wasn't meant to be. Amy just wasn't the girl for me. Neither were Josh, Rosie or Nathan, for that matter…"

Kurt rolled his eyes, grinning, and Blaine stuck his tongue out.

"Watch that tongue, or someone'll cut it off!" he sing-songed.

Blaine withdrew his tongue quickly, pouting. "I bet you were the kid who used to play mommies and daddies, and would boss everyone around the whole time," he said sulkily.

Kurt smiled wryly. "I was pretty obnoxious. I used to make my dad have tea parties with me, with little sandwiches with the crusts cut off."

Blaine grinned and slid his hand into Kurt's, ignoring his half-hearted protest. "Saturday. I'll come round, we'll watch romantic comedies, and we'll have a tea party."

They headed their separate ways between the rails again. Blaine was 90% sure that he was only here for company, seeing as he had no idea what he was supposed to be doing. He wandered through the aisles of the wardrobe, letting his fingers run over the endless racks of clothing. His hands brushed over silk, cotton, velvet, each a different flavour under his fingertips. He teased Kurt to get a reaction, and of course he'd got one, but he understood what he'd meant. Each fabric had its own _feel_, made up of its texture and the way it reflects the light, and from the precise shade of its color. He was convinced that every shade was actually the color of something, whether it was the difference between the color of the flesh of a peach one day and the next, or the tone of the sea in the morning and the evening. A grey like the color of the sky in the minute before a storm was different to the grey of the downy feathers on the underside of a bird's wing, and so as they changed the clothes changed. Clothes could summon the taste of brightly coloured candy popping in a child's mouth, the earthy scent of the wet ground after rain or the oppressive calmness of a hot day in August. They could be an extension of oneself, a self-portrait if you like, or they could be used as a mask.

He wondered if this was how Kurt saw clothes: as the possibility of a becoming a different person. After all, he changed himself every day when he left his house, his cocoon of safety outside which he had to wear his armour. That's what the clothes were to him, Blaine understood that now. The artfully draped layers, of shirts and jackets and skull print scarves, they were all a smokescreen, designed to hide in plain sight the fact that Kurt was, against all the odds, only a person. Who would bother to look past the heavy boots and the skin-tight denim to notice that, underneath it all, hid a man, as terrified of the world around him as the world was of him?

Blaine knew a little about hiding. Ohio wasn't a fun place to grow up in, however sheltered his school had been, and he'd gotten used to pretending to be less camp, less enthusiastic, less himself. He'd worn the blazer and gelled back his hair, and that had become the front which the world saw and judged.

That's what had happened, to Kurt, he realised. The tough clothes were as much a self-defence mechanism as the bitchy demeanour. It was a façade, and one which Blaine had yet to completely get past. He'd seen glimpses, now and then, of a boy in men's clothes, doing what he knew and doing it well, but still so unsure of himself. He was a strong boy, strong and vibrant and _determined,_ determined to make his mark on the world he lived in. It barely mattered that he doubted himself, because he had a pride and a will so ironclad that no one could stop him, not even himself.

Blaine was, oh so quickly and oh so thoroughly, falling in love with that boy.

* * *

It turned out to be a day of inquisitions. The moment he sat down in the cafeteria, Mercedes was onto him.

"Well hey there, stranger!"

Tina slid onto the seat beside him, rolling her eyes. "Mercedes, we haven't seen him in two days. That's not exactly centuries ago."

Mercedes huffed and sat down, putting her plate down with more force than was strictly necessary. "Yeah, but we didn't see you for _days_ before that."

Blaine had been spending most of his lunch hours with Kurt, telling the girls that he had to work. He hadn't thought of it before but it was true that he'd been neglecting them to spend time with Kurt.

"I'm sorry," he apologised, looking up at Mercedes with the Blaine Anderson patented puppy dog expression. "I promise I'll try and see you more."

She sighed and looked away. "Stop looking at me like that! Fine!"

Tina giggled. "It'll be nice to see you more."

Blaine looked at her gratefully. Whilst he loved Mercedes' penchant for drama, Tina acted as a natural pacifier, and she was honestly one of the sweetest women he'd ever met.

"I know, I'm sorry I've been so busy. How about we do something one evening this week?" he suggested.

Mercedes' immediately clapped her hands together excitedly. "Great idea!" Blaine braced himself for her suggestions. "We could go clubbing, or there's a burlesque bar that's just opened…"

"How about something a bit less risqué for the married, pregnant lady?" Tina asked tentatively.

"And for the gay man?" Blaine added. "Women taking their clothes off artfully doesn't actually appeal to me that much."

Mercedes just pouted and muttered something that sounded like 'live a little'. "_Fine_, then, how about that bar we went to the other week?"

Blaine shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Should I invite Emma?"

"Ooh, yes! It'll be a girls' night out!" She waved at Blaine to stop him interrupting. "Girls and gay men, you know what I mean."

"I was going to say, I do still have a penis," he said, pacified.

"Don't worry, Blainers, we promise not to forget your penis."

They both burst into fits of giggles, leaving Blaine to fold his arms grumpily and turn away. "I'm not even sure you _want_ me to be your friend."

Eventually they calmed down. "So, next Thursday at 7, say?" Tina asked.

They both nodded and started to eat their food. One of the major drawbacks of working at a fashion magazine was that almost all the food in the cafeteria was officially healthy. As a man who could happily digest half of a cow between two slices of bread if it had enough ketchup, Blaine wasn't overly impressed with the options, and he pushed his pitta bread and salad around his plate unenthusiastically.

"Don't play with your food!" Tina snapped, in such a mom-ish way that Blaine almost meekly apologised.

Mercedes just grinned. "You're a mother already." Then Tina stuck her tongue out, ruining the impression of maturity. "_Infantile_," She exclaimed exasperatedly.

"Seriously, how _old_ are you two?" Blaine snarked, spearing a piece of celery with his fork and examining it. "Did you know you burn more calories digesting celery than you gain from it."

Apparently his change of conversation wasn't as subtle as he'd hoped because Tina gave him a disbelieving look. Then again, he should have known Mercedes would manage to steer the topic back to something close to her heart.

She winked and grinned at him. "Trying to stay in shape for the boys, are we, Blainers?"

And there it was. Irrevocable proof that your friends are much more dangerous than your enemies.

He didn't dignify that with a response, popping the celery into his mouth and trying to control the expression of disgust on his face.

"Come on, Blaine," she went on. "Why don't we try and get you a date when we go out, eh? We could go to a gay bar if you wanted."

"'Cedes, rolling into a gay bar with three heterosexual females, including one who's pregnant – sorry, Tina – isn't actually the height of cool, believe it or not."

"Well if you put it like that…"

Blaine pushed his plate away. It was no wonder everyone here was so in shape; nobody could stomach eating more than half their lunch. He wilfully ignored memories of the family-size bag of chips he'd eaten last night.

"Let's just go back to the place we went last time," Tina suggested, and Mercedes reluctantly agreed.

"But if a hot guy comes up to you this time – don't deny it! – then you _make a move_, ok?"

"'Cedes…"

She interrupted him. "No! You can wait around for love all you like, but at the end of the day you're never going to find it if you don't give anyone a chance!"

"I do!" he protested.

"No you don't!" She carried on, all cylinders blazing. "You dismiss everyone you see out of hand, just in case they're not right. You'd let your soulmate walk right past you and you wouldn't even _know!_"

Blaine shifted uncomfortably in his seat. This conversation was a little too close to home for comfort.

"She's right," Tina said, much more quietly and with less hand waving than Mercedes but still with the same firmness. "You have to take a chance once in a while. If you're not attached to anyone else, why… oh."

Damn that woman for being quite so perceptive.

"There _is_ someone, isn't there?"

Mercedes' head shot round. "Wait, what? Who?"

Blaine squirmed under the combined force of their stares. Tina was looking pleased and mildly impressed, while Mercedes' was glaring at him. "Um…"

"Blaine…" There was a threat hanging in her voice, and for a moment Blaine wished he was back facing Santana. At least he expected her to be scary.

"Look, it's… it's new."

Mercedes opened her mouth, probably to wring him out for details, but Tina interrupted. "You don't have to tell us. I just want you to know I'm really happy for you, ok? You deserve this."

Blaine smiled at the smaller woman, taking the hand she stretched across the table and squeezing it tightly. "Thanks, Tina."

Mercedes snorted. "Can't we have _some_ details, pretty please? I'll love you forever!"

Blaine grinned. "There's nothing much to tell, believe me. I just… I really like him. A lot."

Her eyes narrowed. "You look kind of smug. Are you getting laid?"

"No!" He protested, then lowered his voice quickly. "No. We… we kissed the other day."

Tina squealed, although Mercedes looked distinctly unimpressed. "Kissed? That's it?"

He leant back in his seat, smiling. "I don't care. It was _perfect_."

Tina smiled widely at him like a proud mother, leaving Mercedes to mutter something about lovestruck fools. Blaine couldn't have cared less that he looked like the most love-addled idiot to walk the earth. He _was_ in love, every minute he spent with Kurt made him more certain, and he loved being able to tell his friends so, even if he couldn't tell them who it was that was making him so ridiculously happy.

Of course his serenity wouldn't last. That evening, he'd barely walked through the door to his apartment when Emma called his cell, obviously having just spoken to Mercedes. That woman was going to be the death of him.

It took a few minutes to calm her down and another few to get a word into her excited monologue. Eventually he managed to confirm that _yes, it was official_ and _yes, it was Kurt_, because Emma was far too observant for her own good, and let's face it, Blaine was hardly the greatest actor when it came to hiding his emotions.

"You've been happier these last few days," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. She may be Wes' fiancée, but Blaine counted her as one of his closest friends all the same. However nosy, bossy or plain annoying she could be at times, she genuinely cared about him. "That probably has something to do with spending lunch every day 'working' with your esteemed editor." He could hear the quotation marks around the word. "He's good for you, Blaine, and it's obvious you're already so head over heels in love you can't tell which way up your ass is."

Sarcasm in her voice aside, Blaine couldn't have put it much better himself.

"Although I do want meet him at some point."

Ah. There, as always, was the crux.

* * *

When Kurt arrived at work the next day, Blaine was waiting as usual to take his coat. He sat back down at his desk, angling his chair so he could see into Kurt's office.

He watched, smiling happily to himself as Kurt paused when he reached his own desk. He picked up the piece of paper, reading the scrawled note, and a contented smile spread over his face.

_For each one I've given you, you owe me one back._

Kurt picked up the three Hershey's Kisses next to the note, laughing quietly, and he unwrapped one. Popping it into his mouth, he looked out into the hallway, meeting Blaine's eyes with an amused grin.

"Well, it would be rude not to," he called through the doorway.

Blaine grinned and turned back to his computer screen. He was perfectly happy to be a fool in love.

* * *

**Absolutely shameless fluff. I have no regrets.**


	11. Chapter 11

**I'm so sorry, I've been a terrible person this week and not replied to any reviews! It was my 18th birthday on friday which is the English drinking age, so of course I was a complete cliche, went out clubbing and woke up with a three-day hangover. It's also my last week ever of school, so I'm seriously behind on sleep! That probably accounts for the amount of kissing in this chapter. (Clue: there's _lots_ of it!) ****End of Author's Note from hell!**

**Warning: Lots of kissing. No, seriously, _tons_.**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine! Neither are Hairspray or Atonement, the films mentioned. Although, if you haven't seen Atonement, go and watch it _this second_. You can thank me later.**

* * *

Tears were pouring down Mercedes' face as she stared at the credits scrolling down the screen. "But… it can't end like _that!"_

It had seemed like a good idea earlier. Wes was out sucking up to his boss at a work thing, Blaine was tired, Emma was stressed, Mercedes had just dumped her latest fling – what better way to spend a Saturday evening than curled up on the couch watching movies?

It would have been fine if they'd picked a different film, but then Mercedes mentioned she'd never seen Atonement. Blaine was slightly emotional _anyway_, and by the time they were five minutes in he was crying so steadily he could barely even focus on a very hot James McAvoy. Emma followed not long after, while Mercedes sat stoically, biting her lip to avoid crying right up until she realised that they hadn't survived. She let out a pitiful whimper and spent the last ten minutes with her knees tucked under her chin, wiping her eyes not-very-discreetly on her sleeve.

"But she… and they… oh my _god!"_ she wailed.

Emma sniffled and pressed stop on the remote. "Who's brilliant idea was this? I cry at _everything_, for god's sake, I cry at _Modern Family!"_

"Isn't that a comedy?"

"Exactly!"

Blaine groaned and sat up groggily, reluctantly letting go of the cushion he'd been cuddling for the last couple of hours. "Can we put something happy on now? Pretty please?"

Emma squeaked, her tears apparently already forgotten. "Ooh, what about Hairspray!"

"Brilliant, there's nothing like people breaking out into song all the time to open you up to joy…"

"Is that a touch of sarcasm I detect, 'Cedes?" Emma asked, grinning. "The whole film is them singing about being happy! Well, apart from the bits where they're sad. But the rest of it's happy!"

Blaine chuckled. "Fine by me, but you know musicals make me break into song – you've been warned."

"They make me break out in hives, but whatever," Mercedes muttered, and Emma just laughed and got up to put the DVD in.

Blaine staggered to his feet. "I think we need more ice cream. Start it without me."

He wandered into the kitchen and rooted around in the freezer until he found the last tub of Ben and Jerrys. Blaine had never thought that being gay made him one of the girls, and he could talk video games for as long as anyone – actually, not as long as David, but that says more about David than him – but whenever he watched anything vaguely romantic, the hormones came out in full and he generally needed chocolate or ice cream to stop himself crying. Actually, he cried anyway, but it was more enjoyable with junk food.

He needed a night in with the girls. His relationship with Kurt had improved vastly in the past week or so; they'd spent all of Saturday together, sitting on a blanket on the floor of Kurt's apartment with a plate of daintily iced cakes from one of the most upmarket bakeries in Manhattan between them. They'd talked and laughed, and fed each other little pieces of cupcake that scattered crumbs all over the carpet. Kurt had got a little bit of frosting smeared onto his upper lip, and Blaine took great care to make sure he cleaned ever single bit off with his tongue. Kurt had just giggled and let himself be pushed gently backwards onto the carpet, craning his head upwards, one arm wrapped tightly around Blaine's neck, to slide their mouths together, warm and wet and familiar with the cloyingly sweet taste of the sugar still on his tongue.

The more he reminisced about that afternoon, the more he craved sugar, if only for a point on which to focus the memory of soft kisses and the lightest puff of lemon frosting, caught between their lips as they lay in the sunlight from the window.

Blaine smiled as he fished a handful of spoons out of a drawer. Saturday had been perfect. During the week they'd talked, laughed and flirted cheesily. Santana rolled her eyes, but he knew she was happy for them, not least because he kept finding condoms in his desk drawer. He thought this was probably her way of saying she approved.

The doorbell went off just as he heard the first strains of Good Morning, Baltimore from the living room.

"Wes is back!" he called into the living room, singing along to the song loudly as danced up the hall to open the door. "Good morning, Baaalti…"

The door swung open and Kurt stood outside, dressed in crumpled jeans with mussed up hair and tear tracks staining his cheeks.

"Erm, hi," he said softly.

Blaine just blinked at him. It was bizarre, seeing him somewhere so ordinary. Kurt was part of the world of skyscrapers and Upper East Side apartments, of designer clothes and vintage champagne and expensive restaurants. For god's sake, Blaine's building had a boiler that juddered away at night and an elevator that hadn't been cleaned since 2001. Kurt didn't belong somewhere so _ordinary_.

"The door downstairs was open, so I…" Kurt trailed off. "Um, I shouldn't have come. Stupid. Sorry, I'll just…"

Blaine realised he was still standing there, mouth open and staring at Kurt like an idiot. "No! Sorry, it was just a shock. Um, come in."

Kurt managed half a smile, and stepped into the narrow hall. "I…"

"Wes!" Emma came barrelling out of the room, then stopped dead. "_Oh._"

Blaine pulled his scattered thoughts together, concentrating on the immediate problem: the fact that Emma was standing stock still in the doorway, one hand covering her mouth. "Ems, do you mind…"

She got the hint straight away. "Sure, um, I'll just go." She turned to go, glancing at Kurt to make sure he wasn't looking and shooting Blaine a confused expression. He just shrugged helplessly.

Blaine didn't speak, couldn't speak. What could he say? Kurt was standing in the entrance to his shabby little apartment, and he might have well have been on Mars. He still didn't fit in. Even in normal clothes, boring clothes that Blaine couldn't imagine Kurt even looking at normally, no matter wearing, he seemed completely out of place.

They were left standing in the hall, avoiding each other's gaze. "I'm sorry," Kurt burst out, at the same time as Blaine said "Kurt…"

They both stopped, laughed quietly, and Blaine gestured at Kurt to speak first. "I'm sorry I just walked in like this," he said softly. "I… I just didn't know who else to talk to, and your phone was off…"

Blaine stepped forward, letting his fingers brush against Kurt's hand, which was shaking. Blaine cut him off with a gentle kiss. "It's fine. Do you want to go sit down?"

Kurt nodded and followed him into the kitchen, leaning against the side and looking around. "Ben and Jerrys?" he remarked.

"Of course, we're having a movie night!" Blaine said cheerfully, trying to ignore the way Kurt's lip was sore from being chewed, and the slight tremor that shuddered through him every few seconds, like he was trying to hold himself together. He pulled two spoons off the table and slid one along the counter to Kurt.

"I shouldn't…"

Blaine poked his spoon into the tub and offered it to Kurt. "It's good for you. Honest."

He smiled weakly and leaned forward to eat the ice cream off the spoon, slowly letting it melt in his mouth while he looked down at the table. "I'm not really sure what I should say."

Blaine took his hand, lacing their fingers together and shivering at the fluttering he still got in his stomach whenever he touched Kurt. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

Kurt smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you." He dug his spoon into the ice cream, slowly working it round until he had a chunk. "I… it's nothing terrible. I'm not dying or being chased by gunmen or anything." Blaine chuckled softly and he took a deep breath. "My Dad had a heart attack. It's not his first, and he's fine, he's in hospital and they say he's recovering already, that there's nothing to worry about. But…" He shook his head slightly. "It scared me, and I just really wanted to see you."

At that moment, Blaine knew he should be concentrating on Kurt, giving him sympathy and affection and love until he smiled again, properly this time. But a tiny, treacherous part of his brain couldn't help but rejoice a little bit. _He wanted to see me._

Kurt rubbed the back of his hand roughly over his eyes, daring the tears to try and fall. "Ugh, I don't know why I'm like this. I guess I'm just tired and emotional, and this tipped me over the edge."

Blaine took one step towards him and Kurt collapsed into his arms, hands fisting in the back of his shirt. "God, _Blaine_."

Blaine hugged him even tighter, one hand coming up to slide through Kurt's hair, the soft strands running through his fingers as he breathed in and _yes_, all he could smell was Kurt enveloping him. He felt a dampness warm on the side of his neck as Kurt shook against him, finally started to cry.

Blaine couldn't have told you how long they stood like that, wrapped up in each other, or how long they spent sitting on the floor when Kurt's knees finally gave in, still together, Blaine's breath warming Kurt's cheek, and Kurt's tears running silently down both of their necks.

Eventually, Kurt tensed and reluctantly let go. He wiped his nose on his shirt, choking up a nervous laugh. "Oh god, I normally wait until at least the fifth date before I have a breakdown."

Blaine reached out and took his hand again. "We haven't exactly done this the normal way."

Kurt smiled tearily. "I guess not." He wiped his eyes again, scrubbing at his face with his sleeve. "You wouldn't believe I work in fashion, would you?"

Blaine took in his pink nose and bloodshot eyes, his wrinkled jeans and shapeless sweater, and he spoke before he'd really thought it through. "Why don't you stay and watch the movie?" Kurt looked doubtful, so he added "It's Hairspray. We thought it would cheer us up."

"Why do you need cheering up?"

"We just watched Atonement."

"Ah," said Kurt. "That makes sense." He thought for a second, then a shy smile crept onto his face. "Yeah, that would be nice."

"Really?" Blaine asked excitedly, and Kurt giggled.

"No, I was just kidding."

Blaine ignored the sarcasm. "Great! Can you bring the ice cream through?"

Kurt caught his arm before he could leave. "What about your friends?"

"What about them?" Blaine asked, still grinning. Kurt was in _his_ apartment, and soon they'd be sitting on _his_ couch and watching _his_ movie. It didn't matter that it was silly, or that he'd been to Kurt's apartment before, or even that this situation was comforting rather than romantic. Kurt was here, with him, and that meant that just maybe this was real. Kurt knew Blaine wasn't like him. He wasn't stylish, or suave, or charming except in a goofy way, and he didn't have money or a fancy car. He'd seen his tiny, run-down apartment, knew about his dumb sense of humour and had seen him in sweats and a t shirt, and he hadn't run away.

"I mean, what do we tell them about…" Kurt gestured to the two of them.

"Oh! Well, Emma's sort of already worked out that I have a crush on you…"

"You have a crush on me?" Kurt asked, grinning, and Blaine blushed scarlet.

"Well, I, um…"

Kurt laughed and kissed him, slower this time, and when he broke away Blaine was kind of dazed. He was always dazed when he was around Kurt. "For the record, I have a crush on you too."

A ridiculous smile appeared on Blaine's face. "Oh. Ok. Good."

Kurt kissed him again, just a peck on the lips, and within a minute they were making out like it had just been invented. Blaine had no idea who initiated it, but Kurt's lips were doing funny things to his brain and he'd ended up nearly on all fours, pressing Kurt enthusiastically against the cabinets.

"Ow!" Kurt yelped after a second and pulled away. "I have a door handle in my back."

Blaine took one look at his indignant expression and then they were both laughing breathlessly, arms still tangled together. "Look at us, we can't even _kiss_ without something getting in the way."

Kurt smiled back indulgently, like a parent watching their child sing their tuneless way through a nursery rhyme. He reached out tentatively, running his fingers through Blaine's gel-free hair. "I like your hair like this. It figures you'd have curls."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment," Blaine smiled.

"It is, trust me." Kurt kissed him again, letting his fingers twist into his hair, moving downwards to rest in the curls at the bottom of his neck. He broke away gently after a second. "Besides, you look ridiculously cute in sweatpants."

"_Cute?_"

Kurt bit his lip, grinning. "Sorry. I meant hot. Not adorable at all."

Blaine scowled. "Just because I'm short does _not_ mean I'm automatically _cute_. Short people can be sexy too!"

Kurt looked like he was trying really, _really_ hard not to laugh. "Like who?"

Blaine struggled for a second. "Like… Tom Cruise! Ok, maybe not. Daniel Radcliffe! He's hot!"

He received a dubious stare.

"He is!"

"Blaine, he's Harry _Potter_."

Blaine wiggled his eyebrows. "Exactly. Magical."

_This_ was magical, because Kurt didn't look disgusted at his stupid joke, he was actually laughing along, laughing and leaning back in to kiss him thoroughly. Eventually he pulled away and stood up slowly, grabbing Blaine's hand and pulling him to his feet too. "Come on. I've been promised musicals and Cookie Dough."

Blaine stood with a groan. "Emma won't say anything," he said, going back to their earlier conversation. "She knows we're… you know… I think she would have guessed anyway, seeing as you just, um, turned up at my apartment."

Kurt acknowledged that with a rueful smile.

"Mercedes is here too." Blaine said, and then his heart fell. "She's in Beauty at work." It was hardly likely she wouldn't recognise the Editor-in-Chief.

Kurt took in his dejected expression. "Blaine, it's fine. I mean, I wish I could tell the whole world. I was being selfish, you deserve to at least tell your friends."

Blaine looked up at him hopefully. "You…really?"

Kurt laughed nervously. "She's your friend. I want to get to know her."

There were no words to say to that, none that could articulate the overwhelming wave of happiness, pride, excitement and something else that crashed over Blaine just then. He mashed their mouths together, trying to project his emotions into the kiss. It must have worked, because when Kurt pushed him away he looked dazed. "Blaine, jesus…"

Blaine grinned. "I can't wait for you to meet my friends."

Kurt just smiled back. "Me too. Do you… will they like me?"

Blaine was speechless at such a stupid question. "Kurt! Of course they will! You're amazing, don't even get me _started_ on how incredible you are!"

Kurt opened his mouth to interrupt, but Blaine cut him off. "Don't argue. I'm so, _so_ much happier since I've been with you. Emma noticed, she's stupidly perceptive about these things. Trust me, she approves."

He still looked worried, so Blaine squeezed his hand tightly. "I won't tell her we're together. Obviously she'll assume it, but still… and she won't tell anyone if I ask her not to."

"No, tell her. I mean, she can't tell anyone, but… I want her to know we're together. Ok?"

"Ok." Blaine repeated, pausing for a second to gaze at his boyfriend who was going to _meet his friends_ for the first time. Kurt smiled happily.

"Come on, then."

When they walked back into the living room, Emma was studiously not reacting to the sight of Kurt, and Mercedes looked up, her eyes widened and her mouth formed an O, and then she dropped the cookie she was holding and spent a minute swearing and trying to find it in the folds of the blanket.

Kurt looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or throw up. "Hi."

Blaine headed for the empty couch, patting the space beside him for Kurt to sit down. "Kurt's going to stay for a bit, if that's ok?"

Emma gaped at him for a second. "Um, fine! Yes!"

Mercedes was a weird purple colour. She'd retrieved the cookie and was staring at the two of them. "Oh, yes…of course!"

Blaine had to try really hard not to make a rude comment, seeing as she was still staring in Kurt's direction. He pulled a blanket up from the floor, tossing half over to Kurt to wrap around his legs. Kurt was sat bolt upright on the couch, looking uncomfortable. Blaine slipped his hand under the blanket and brushed his fingertips against Kurt's thigh.

Kurt turned to him, smiling slightly, and he felt Kurt take his hand under the cover. He'd have a lot of questions to answer later, probably all consisting of 'what…' and 'how?' and '_how?_', but for now he let his brain disengage. They watched the rest of the movie quietly, focused on the screen but with their hands still joined, hidden under the blankets.

* * *

At least they waited until Kurt left. To be honest, that was the only comfort he had.

He'd walked with Kurt as far as the front door to the building. They barely spoke, content with each other's company. Kurt had slipped a hand into his halfway down the hall, and they clung onto the contact until they reached the street, pausing to say goodbye.

There wasn't really much to say with words at that point. They talked all the time – about work, music, food, about their likes and dislikes, their hopes and dreams, about the state of the world and the state of themselves. But it was moments like this, when Blaine didn't need words to understand completely what Kurt's happy smile, the shy flick of his eyes up through half-lowered lashes, that took his breath away. He didn't need a speech when a quiet 'goodbye' would do. Words were pointless, empty, when a soft press of lips against his and the lingering scent of cologne like rain could make pain claw in his chest, like he'd never feel this again. Would it always be like this? Would it feel like the world was a little emptier every time they said goodbye?

And so Kurt left, disappearing into the darkness, and Blaine watched him go until his back became just another one in a crowd. He turned with a sigh, heading back up the stairs. Kurt was aloof, fiercely independent, used to looking after himself, emotionally as much as physically. It would take a long time for him to rely on someone else.

Blaine wanted to be the person he came to. He wanted to hear his worries, however small, and talk them into insignificance. He wanted to solve the little problems and stand by him through the big. He wanted Kurt _need_ him, and to need Kurt in return, because that was what relationships were. The word boyfriend seemed so temporary, so detached. He wanted to be Kurt's partner.

But Kurt _had_ leaned on him, in a way. He'd come to Blaine, not for sympathy or even someone to listen, but just for the comfort of having someone there who cared.

He was grinning as he walked back into the apartment, and he couldn't even bring himself to care when he walked back into the room to Emma's and Mercedes' combined shrieks.

"When?"

"…didn't tell me…"

"…can't believe it…"

"Jesus _Christ!_"

Blaine laughed at their faces. Mercedes was still looking completely shell-shocked and Emma was apoplectic with excitement.

"He's even more gorgeous in person!"

Mercedes was shaking her head disbelievingly. "What did you _do_ to him?"

Blaine looked at her questioningly.

"He was _nice!"_

He shrugged. "He's hardly going to be a bitch _all_ the time, is he? That's… that's not him. It's like his work personality, he has a reputation he needs to keep up."

Mercedes was gaping at him. "So you mean… you and him…"

"Um, yeah. Sort of."

Emma waved her aside. "More to the point, you are _so_ in love with him! I knew you liked him but the way you looked at him, and the way he looked at you…" She shook her head disbelievingly. "God, Blaine, I thought my heart was going to break." She hopped up from the couch and pulled him into a tight hug. "You don't mess around, do you? I mean, you barely date but when you do, you _really_ go for it."

He laughed into the top of her head. "Thanks, Em. I… I guess I do," he added dazedly. It was the first time it had been said out loud without the need to hide behind caution, and a bubble of joy lodged in his chest at the words.

Mercedes looked like she was about to start hyperventilating. "No, but…_really?_"

Blaine grinned, grabbing her hand and pulling her up off the seat for a hug too. "Really."

She shook her head. "_Kurt Hummel_…"

"Yeah, but he's not like that. He's just Kurt."

"Kurt who happens to be the universal _king_ of fashion, as well as the most terrifying man to work for, like, ever." She grinned. "You sure know how to pick 'em."

They immediately settled down to quizzing him on every interaction he and Kurt had ever had. Luckily he was long overdue a chance to discuss just how handsome, smart and generally perfect Kurt was, and he was more than happy to oblige with every minute detail of the time before their relationship and now. Emma was brimming over with happiness, and Mercedes was still completely incredulous. At some point she remembered that Kurt had a boyfriend, and Blaine quickly explained the situation with Sam. He also swore them both to secrecy, relishing the look on Mercedes' face when she realised that she had the gossip of the century and couldn't tell anyone.

Later, when he finally extricated himself and headed for bed, he realised that he felt lighter somehow. Maybe it was the thrill of finally proving that he was more to Kurt than a crush, or that he had a secret from two less people in the world.

Either way, he fell asleep with a smile on his lips and the memory of a smile running through his mind. Tonight could have gone a lot worse.

* * *

**Burt's relationship with Kurt is how every parent should be. Single ladies, anyone?**


	12. Chapter 12

**In case you didn't see my Author's Note this week, I'm uploading this story, as well as my other Klaine stories, onto Scarves and Coffee (google it if you don't know what it is!), where my pen name is dsmills. FFn is deleting a lot of stories with sexual content, and (being a chronic worrier) I'm worried they'll take this story down for the minimal sexual content already in it.**

**I debated long and hard (sort of) whether to put the next chapter, which will be rated nc-17 (that means smut, guys!), on S&C instead and have a censored version here. I'll see what the situation's like in a week. This whole thing is irritating and just _wrong_, but I don't want to lose my story and all the support you guys have given me over it.**

**In other news, please come and talk to me on tumblr. I'm hummelinmypants and I'm lonely over there! **

**Warning: PG-13**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. If I did, I'd have put the box scene on the DVD extras.**

* * *

The next week passed in a blissful daze of secretive looks and sneakily held hands. Kurt was still nervous about showing affection in public, but they got by on what Santana would call 'eye-fucking' over their coffee breaks and a movie that went almost completely unwatched on Tuesday evening. It didn't matter that they had to be careful at work; they were deliriously happy just to know that they were together. That was enough.

Mercedes' continued to be completely sceptical about their relationship. Blaine spent well over an hour talking with her over coffee, gesticulating more and more wildly as he told her about Kurt. He spoke about Kurt's reticence, his shyness, the way he seemed so unsure that Blaine wasn't going to run away. It took nearly half an hour, with Blaine grinning widely all the while, to tell her about how sweet he was, how caring, describing in painstaking detail each of their dates. He poured his heart out to her over his cappuccino, telling her how Kurt made his heart swell just by being in the same room, how he couldn't bear the thought of being without him. He said, looking down shyly at the foamy coffee, that when he was with Kurt, every emotion he experienced was so much _more_. He'd spoken until he was voice was hoarse and he had to stop, caught up in the bubble of happiness that seemed to permanently surround him these days.

She sat opposite him the whole time, slowly sipping her coffee while his went cold. Then, when he'd finished, she sighed. "Look, you're obviously crazy about him, and nothing I say is going to change your mind. Just… be careful, ok?"

He'd sulked a little at that, staring sullenly at the cup in front of him after she left. She didn't understand. She'd never had this sort of relationship, where their affection was based on more than sex and they wanted a future together. He and Kurt hadn't even had sex yet. That was the point; they didn't need an orgasm or two to justify their relationship. He'd not called Mercedes up on it, though. She could be temperamental at times, and it hardly seemed worth the effort. In time he would prove to her that it was possible to fall in love. Blaine should know; he was pretty sure he'd fallen head over heels.

Emma at least was more supportive. In fact, she was entirely too supportive; she called him daily for gossip, even when there was nothing to be told, and she'd started to take everything he said as a euphemism. Her face when he'd mentioned that he'd spent the day at work researching inner-thigh cream-based treatments was a picture, despite the number of times that he'd protested it was an anti-cellulite spa treatment, and anyway, _he_ wasn't the one testing it out!

Unfortunately, the all-too brief calm was nearing its end. The new issue was going to print in a few days, and Kurt was suddenly caught up in the customary whirlwind of articles submitted late and bad formatting. Blaine had barely seen him in the past few days, except to bring him coffee every hour. He was pretty sure the caffeine was the only thing keeping Kurt's eyes open, and he was pretty sure it was in the relationship rulebook that he had a duty to stop his boyfriend from collapsing. It gave him a chance to sneak (unfortunately healthy) snacks onto Kurt's desk for him to find when he got back from wherever he'd been, and he relished the sight of that beautiful half-smile when Kurt got back from whichever department was least competent at the time.

Kurt had started working through his lunch hour, too, so Blaine had gone back to having lunch with Mercedes and Tina. He hadn't realised that he'd missed their company, and as much as he loved his lunches with Kurt, there was a lot more eating and a lot less gazing into each other's eyes when the other man wasn't around to distract him.

Mercedes' phone buzzed with an incoming text for the third time in the last half hour. She ignored it again, not even glancing at the screen, and carried on chatting away about the shoot she was doing the next day. Blaine was nodding along, chewing on a forkful of noodles and trying to keep up with who exactly she was pissed off with at the moment. It had started with one of the stylists, quickly become the model, then the photographer, evolved into a deep hatred for 'that bitch from fashion', and now he was pretty sure it was back to the model. Or maybe the stylist again. She called them all 'that cow', so it was difficult to tell.

Her phone buzzed again, skittering across the table from the vibrations. Mercedes didn't acknowledge it, but he thought she might have started speaking a bit faster.

"Aren't you going to get that?" he asked.

She paused in her tirade to glare at him. "It's nothing important, or I would have picked it up the _first_ time."

He shrugged and went back to his noodles as she took a deep breath and continued. They'd been planning to get out of the cafeteria for a few days, but Tina had forgotten a doctor's appointment and so the two of them had gone to the restaurant to grab lunch on their own. They probably looked like a couple, Blaine thought with a wry smile, except that Mercedes was in such a foul mood she'd barely stopped ranting since they'd left the office. He had no idea what was up with her, although he suspected it wasn't just the shoot.

The phone's screen lit up again, with an incoming call this time. Blaine grabbed it off the table. "We should at least turn it off… wait, David Thermayn? Why is David calling you?"

She was looking down at her nearly untouched plate of chow mein, avoiding his eyes. "I don't know," she said stiffly.

Blaine unlocked her phone, scrolling through the call log. "You have 9 texts and 4 missed calls!"

She snatched the phone out of his hand and shoved it into her purse. "Blaine, it's none of your business." Her voice was cold.

He'd never seen her look like this before, her face stony. She'd been irritated, bitchy, argumentative, but she'd never shut her emotions off before. Right now she was radiating stand-offishness.

"It kind of is, 'Cedes, he's my friend! Did you two…" he trailed off. Mercedes' standard state of attachment was 'not in a million years', and nobody she dated lasted more than a week or two at most. David, on the other hand, was the definition of a romantic. As geeky as he could be, he spent his life looking for the one person to listen to soft folk music and play Mario cart with, whilst staring soppily into each other's eyes. He was worse than _Blaine_, for god's sake. He didn't even want to think about how a relationship between the two of them would work, or, rather, wouldn't.

"We hooked up," she muttered, tight-lipped.

"Is he the guy you had a fling with a couple of weeks ago?"

She glared at him defensively. "So what if he is?"

"That's my friend you're talking about!" Blaine had even thought to warn David not to get involved with Mercedes, but he'd…what? Forgotten? Hadn't wanted to deal with the awkward conversation? Maybe he'd just assumed that David wouldn't be taken in by the flirtation. No, he couldn't fool himself. David was one of those perpetually naïve men who sees the world as a romance novel. He'd have been picking out baby names before the first date.

Mercedes crossed her legs primly and looked away. "We went out a few times. It's not a big deal, Blaine!"

"Why couldn't you have picked anyone else?" His voice was rising now, above the level of conversation in the restaurant. He noticed a woman at the next table glance around and then turn back to her friend, shaking her head. This must look like a lover's quarrel. "What, have you already slept with the entire single population of Manhattan?"

Her cheeks coloured. "What is your _fucking_ problem? Just because _you're_ not getting laid means that the rest of us have to be monks too?"

"My problem is that you slept with my friend!"

"So what?" she exploded. "I know you're so insecure you picked the only guy in the state _more_ needy than you to be in a relationship with, but that does _not_ mean that I can't have fun!"

Blaine lost all semblance of calm the minute she mentioned Kurt. "Don't you fucking _dare_! He is the kindest man I've ever met! Some of us actually have emotions, although it looks like yours were surgically removed and replaced with your libido!"

She sneered at him. "Come _on!_ You're a textbook case of 'I need someone to take care of'! Maybe if you didn't see sex like some ridiculous ritual and just had fun for once, you'd stop being such a judgemental prick!"

"What, like you?" He'd lost control of his voice and he was nearly shouting. "I didn't warn him because I thought even _you_ couldn't stoop that low, but I guess I was wrong! Why do you have this need to hurt people all the time? You're so scared of letting people in, you just break their hearts and move on to the next poor bastard!"

"I do _not!_" She yelled. "Not everyone is as high-fucking-minded as you are! Maybe I just don't want the house, two kids and a dog life! That's your future, but I'll be fucked if I'll let it be mine!"

Blaine felt himself start to cry, tears worming their way down his cheeks even as he blinked furiously. "That's such a cop out! No one's forcing you to settle down and get married! You're so scared of getting hurt that you'd rather hurt other people!" The tears were falling thick and fast now, but he was still yelling hoarsely. "You're a bitch, Mercedes!"

She looked like she'd been slapped. "Fine." Her voice was low, and cold as ice. She grabbed her bag, yanking her coat off her chair and standing up. "I don't give a shit what you think." She pushed her chair back so hard it fell over with a clang and stormed out of the restaurant. Behind her, people had put down their chopsticks to stare, and Blaine heard the murmur of conversation stop, then segue into whispers.

He leant back in his chair, sighing. He hadn't spoken to David for more than a quick chat in weeks, but then how the hell was he supposed to have known this would happen? He hadn't had time, anyway, he'd been so caught up with Kurt. And why shouldn't he be? he thought defensively. You was allowed a period of introversion at the start of a new relationship, everyone knew that.

But the fact was that he knew what Mercedes was like, how many men she got through and how few feelings she had for any of them. He laughed it off; they all did, because the alternative was actually saying something, and that would have been too difficult. It was only now, when the situation was one step closer to home, that he realised how many people this must have happened to. Sure some of them – maybe most of them – had been looking for company for a night, but how many of them were Davids, looking for the girl of their dreams and having their hearts broken for the trouble?

He fished a few notes out of his wallet and left them on the table, leaving the restaurant grumpily. He tried to ignore the stares coming from all directions. Everyone in the building had probably heard their argument.

He started walking back towards the office, slowly moving through the crowd of people rushing in all directions. He had a longer lunch break today seeing as they had a fitting scheduled for 4, so he had plenty of time to wander along and stew in his anger.

Normally he'd apologise. He'd been brought up to be polite, of course, but to be honest he just found it easier to say sorry than to let anger turn into resentment. He'd end up apologising in the long run either way, so why not get it over with?

But the thing was that she was in the wrong. He'd meant what he'd said. She could have anyone she wanted, and frequently did – why did she have to choose David? He was so sweet that innocence poured out of every freaking orifice! That was rich coming from him, he knew, but then _he_ wasn't the one being seduced by a heartless automaton with snark instead of actual emotions.

Actually, that description sounded familiar. The difference was, that was just the mask Kurt hid behind. At the moment, he wasn't sure if Mercedes actually had another personality.

Blaine suddenly desperately wanted to see Kurt. He wouldn't know what to do, but he needed just to have someone hold his hand and tell him everything was going to be ok, and especially that he wasn't as much to blame as Mercedes for not trying to stop her from going after David.

By the time he got back to the office he'd worked himself up into a panic. He rushed straight through the department to Kurt's office, just needing the reassurance of his arms around him. He paused outside for a moment to wipe the tears from his eyes and take a few deep breaths. It wouldn't exactly help to burst in, hysterical.

Kurt was sitting at his desk, holding a couple of sketches up to the desk lamp. He had his glasses on, a clear sign that he was stressed. He glanced over when Blaine walked in, then looked back at the drawings. "Blaine, is it important? I'm really busy right now."

Blaine almost took a step back in shock. He _knew_ Kurt was busy, but to hear the cold tone of voice applied to himself was like a physical blow. "I…" He wasn't even sure what he'd been planning to say. He just knew that, in his head, Kurt had made everything better. He'd never imagined this reaction, and that only made him more confused. "I needed to talk to you."

"Look, I've got so much on my plate, today, Blaine, I don't have time for this. Can't it wait?"

"No, it can't!" All of the anger and frustration he had with Mercedes started to spill out. "I'm upset and hurt and I need my boyfriend!"

"Shh!" Kurt hissed. "Blaine, can you just…"

"No!" He lowered his voice, but it was just as firm when he spoke, even though he could hear it start to tremble with emotion. "I, I just…"

Kurt sighed. "Can we please talk about this later? Come on, you know how busy I am. Don't do this here."

That was the final straw. "Don't do this here?" He hissed. "We don't do _this_ anywhere! We've been alone _three times_ since we got together, and that's in three weeks! I've been through _shit_ just now, and all I wanted was for my _boyfriend_ to be there to give me a _hug_, and you won't even do that!"

He'd been telling himself for the last week that he was fine being in a secret relationship. Why did he need PDA to be happy? As long as they cared for each other, and he knew they did, and as long as they had time to talk and laugh and _be_ together, wasn't that enough?

And it _was_ enough, when they were both content. They were tired and stressed, but they knew they had the other's silent support, and that had meant the world. The problem was now: when Blaine needed a hug and a comforting word, and Kurt couldn't. _Wouldn't_. Blaine knew rationally that Kurt was worried about people finding out, et cetera et cetera, but right now all that his poor, battered emotions could process was that Kurt had chosen caution over Blaine's need. That was like a blow to the chest.

Kurt was watching him now, eyes wide. "What don't you understand, Kurt? We might not be able to be a couple in public, but that's not what we're missing." He broke off with a harsh laugh. "I'm in _love_ with you, for god's sake, and you barely acknowledge that we're together."

And that was the problem, really, wasn't it? He'd said it himself: they'd been together less than a month. He couldn't blame Kurt for not putting his brand new boyfriend's tears before the reputation he'd spent years cultivating, just as he couldn't blame Kurt for not being half as in love with him as he was. Because Blaine knew, without a doubt, that if the situation was reversed, he would have thrown his career out of the window in a moment for Kurt. He'd always been a grand gestures sort of person, and this would have been just another way to show the world his love.

But Kurt wasn't him.

He was sitting stock still in his chair, staring at Blaine with a look of shock on his face. Blaine turned away, cheeks burning as he realised quite how much of his soul he'd just bared, only for it to be ripped to shreds. "Whatever, forget it."

"Blaine…" Kurt said timidly.

Blaine looked back at him, frozen to his chair with his face twisted in distress. "Look, it doesn't matter. This was probably never going to work anyway."

"What?" Kurt sounded confused. He was staring up at Blaine with wide eyes, as if he was struggling to understand the words he'd heard. "You…no…"

Blaine shook his head and glanced away. He couldn't look any longer. "Come on, what were the chances of this working out? You're…" he gestured at Kurt's spotless outfit, at the huge office, at the magazine lying innocently on his desk. "You're _Kurt Hummel_, and I'm some scruffy graduate with big dreams and no sense of style." He looked away again so Kurt didn't see the tears welling up in his eyes. "I'll email you a formal resignation."

"Wait!" Kurt leapt out of his seat, grabbing Blaine's arm before he could leave. "No, you can't…please…" He was struggling to draw breath. "Don't, Blaine, don't go…" In a moment his face crumpled and a sob that he'd been holding back wracked through his body. He reached for Blaine's hands, holding them together between his own so tightly it was painful. "I didn't mean that, I didn't, _never_…"

"You mean…" He let the tiniest bubble of hope rise into his chest.

Kurt slammed their lips together, kissing him urgently. Blaine felt Kurt's tongue wet across his lips immediately, and he opened his mouth to let Kurt plunge inside, licking harshly across the roof of his mouth and coming down to tangle desperately with Blaine's.

He couldn't be entirely sure why this was happening, what Kurt meant by this, but he didn't care. For a minute he'd realised, for the first time, just how doomed this relationship was. He'd done the sensible thing, tried to back out, to allow Kurt to let him leave. But Kurt hadn't let him, and he was already so, so glad. He wasn't sure what had happened to him, but he knew that whatever it was, Kurt was worth it. He was always worth it. He would take a distant Kurt over no Kurt at all any day.

Kurt pulled away, breathless. "I love you too," he whispered, and it took a second for Blaine's brain to catch up.

"You… you do?"

Kurt bit his lip, grinning through the tear tracks that stained his face. Then his expression crumpled again and he was crying. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I should never have…you…I can't lose you. Not ever." He took a deep, rattling breath. "It's my fault, all my fault. I… I _love_ you, and I was so scared, Blaine, you have no idea. These feelings _terrify_ me, so I thought… I don't know what I thought. Maybe that if I ignored it and focused on my work, something that I can actually control, I thought I might be able to control my own heart." He sniffed and shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment. "I was so stupid. You're worth it, a million times worth it. We have to be _equal_ in this, and that means I'm there for you, like you were there for me last week." He pressed another hard kiss to Blaine's lips, like he needed the reassurance that he was still here.

Blaine just stared at him for a second, then pulled him into a tight hug, burying his nose into Kurt's neck. His hair was soft against his cheek, and he inhaled the scent of Kurt's cologne like rain, grounding him a little. "I love you," he murmured into his skin, and he felt Kurt's laughing response rather than heard it:

"I love you. I love you!"

He couldn't help laughing too, and now they were shaking with laughter instead of tears, still holding onto each other tightly.

"Kurt, Brian needs to speak with you…" Santana appeared in the doorway. In one swift, appraising glance she took in the tears on both of their cheeks and the wide smiles on their faces, and the way they were still pressed together, arms wrapped tightly around each other. For a brief second, she even smiled. "…I'll tell him you're busy."

She disappeared, but was back a moment later. "You boys should go home. There's nothing here I can't handle."

It took less than a second for Kurt to fly out of Blaine's arms and into Santana's. She caught him, staggering a little and giggling in a very un-Santana-like way.

"You are _so_ getting a raise," Kurt murmured in her ear, and she just laughed and pushed him back towards Blaine.

"I'd better be. Now beat it, dolphin, take the hobbit back to yours where you can make out without making me want to puke."

Kurt was back at Blaine's side in an instant, grabbing his hand tightly. "Love you, San. Thanks."

She rolled her eyes, but still looked pleased. "Go on, then!"

Kurt laughed and pulled Blaine out of the office. Blaine was still in a haze of _he loves me! He loves me!_ and was in no state to do anything by himself.

He did, however, notice when Kurt hesitated a fraction before they stepped into the main corridor, which everyone on the floor used. Blaine stopped and pulled him back before they left the editorial area. "Kurt, it's ok. You don't have to prove anything to me."

"But I…" Kurt protested, but Blaine cut him off.

"No, there's no point in doing this." Blaine said. It was true; he didn't need the world to know, as long as he was sure of it himself, and Kurt was willing to be there when he needed him. He'd already more than proven that tonight.

Kurt looked like he was about to argue, but Blaine carried on. "You're here with me now, that's what matters. I don't need anything else."

Kurt beamed at him. "Ok. Do… do you want to come back to mine?"

Blaine chuckled at the note of uncertainty still in his voice. "Kurt, you should know I do."

Later, as they sat in the back of Kurt's car, squashed into the middle and the left seat so that their bodies were pressed together from thigh to shoulder, Kurt asked him "I'm so sorry, I completely forgot. What was it you were upset about?"

Blaine shook his head slightly. "It doesn't matter. This is much more important." He smiled down at the man tucked underneath his arm and cuddled into his shoulder, and kissed him slowly, deeply. "I love you."

Kurt grinned again, even though by this point his face was aching, and snuggled in closer. "I love you too."

* * *

**This was heart-wrenching to write, I need to stop having angst in my stories! I think it was something that needed to happen, though.**

**Please review, and come see me on tumblr! **


	13. Chapter 13

******In the end I decided to post the smutty version. Just remember if this disappears, it's all going to be on Scarves&Coffee. Enjoy!**

**Warning: NC-17 (It took a while, but we've got there!)**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine**

* * *

They hurried into Kurt's building, walking quickly through the cool, impersonal foyer and only wrapping their arms back around each other once they were inside the elevator. Once Kurt got his apartment door open Blaine pushed him through it, ignoring his squeak of surprise, and pressed him against the wall, kissing him deeply. Kurt protested for a second before sighing and relaxing into the kiss. He brought one hand up to curl into Blaine's hair but then broke away, laughing.

Blaine pouted at him. "Why did you stop?" and ok, he was whining.

Kurt bit his lip, but he was still shaking with laughter. "Your hair, it's _solid!_" Blaine raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Sorry, I'm sorry, but you should really use less gel."

"Never, my hair without gel…let's just say, it's not a pretty sight."

Kurt stared at him. "Are you kidding me? I saw it last week, remember? It was a _very_ pretty sight." He leaned back in for a kiss, and this time it was Blaine who broke away a minute later, frowning.

"What, really?"

"_Yes_, really," Kurt sounded exasperated. "You looked adorable." Blaine glared at him. "Sorry, not adorable. Sexy. Incredibly sexy." He giggled again at the look on Blaine's face. "I mean it. You're the sexiest man I've ever seen."

He brought his hands up to cup Blaine's face, bringing it in for a short, soft kiss that left Blaine's eyelashes fluttering. "…oh. Ok, then."

Kurt leant forward away from the wall, resting their foreheads against one another. Their lips were so close like this, so if one of them moved at all they'd be touching. Blaine could feel Kurt's breath, faster than usual, against his skin. The smell of his cologne surrounded them, the familiar smell of rain permeating his senses.

They stood there, eyes closed and breathing each other in, for a long minute. Eventually Blaine pulled away, and Kurt would never admit that the noise he made then was embarrassingly like a whine. "_Blaine_, come _back_."

Blaine tried to take a step away, but Kurt had wrapped his arms around his waist and was refusing to let go. He was surprisingly strong, something which Blaine tried to very quickly put out of his mind.

"Kurt, as much as I love you, and believe me, I love you more than I can ever say, your front door is open and your neighbours are going to get a shock if they come out any time soon."

Kurt paused, then slowly loosened his arms. "This is only because you said you loved me," he threatened vaguely.

Blaine shut the door and was back in a second, grabbing Kurt's hand and pulling him into the apartment. "Come on!"

"This is _my_ apartment!" Kurt grumbled, but didn't hide his smile.

"I know, and I remember it having an _extremely_ comfortable couch," Blaine grinned. "And I thought to myself, we have a whole afternoon with nothing to do, and your couch over there just begging to be lain on."

"Lain, huh? I always assumed couches were for sitting on."

Blaine looked at him very seriously. "Well that's where you're wrong, young jedi. In the beginning of time, before there were couches and before Marc Jacobs, somebody… let's call him Bob… was looking for a place to make out with his insanely attractive boyfriend. But the rocks hurt his back, and he kept falling out of trees, so he invented the couch so they could make out in peace."

"That's very wise of you, Blaine."

"I know, I know." He led Kurt into the living room and over to stand in front of the couch. "So…"

Kurt just grinned at him and flopped onto the couch, pulling Blaine down on top of him in a mess of sprawling limbs and laughter. "And this Bob's boyfriend, what was he like?"

Blaine pushed himself up onto his arms, enjoying the way the smile played across Kurt's lips. He was uninhibited, laughing because he wanted to laugh, his hair mussed up and eyes sparkling. He was breathtaking.

"Bob's boyfriend? He was a 6 foot tall caveman called Ugg."

Kurt whacked his shoulder and wriggled to get out from under him. Blaine let his arms give way, covering Kurt with his body and wrapping his arms around him. "No, don't leave me! I was joking, don't go!"

Kurt laughed and stopped struggling. "Dork."

Blaine lifted his head from Kurt's shoulder and winked. Kurt stuck his tongue out, and Blaine leant down to catch it in his mouth, sucking on it slowly until Kurt moaned. "You love it," he whispered against Kurt's lips.

"I love _you._"

* * *

It was nearly seven o'clock when they got up. Blaine's stomach rumbled in the middle of a kiss, and Kurt had to break and bury his head into Blaine's shoulder to stop laughing, still straddling Blaine on the couch. They'd made out for nearly half an hour until they started to get uncomfortably hard, and they cooled down for a while watching a rerun of Project Runway. Well, Kurt watched and Blaine watched Kurt, laughing at the snarky comments he made every few minutes. They were well into the third episode when Blaine remarked idly that the pants the model was wearing would look much better on Kurt. He didn't have time to look around before Kurt pounced on him, throwing one leg over his body on the couch and pulling him up by his shirt into a heated kiss. Blaine responded with enthusiasm, to say the least, and they were soon engaged in a tug of war of lips, tongues and occasionally teeth. It was _fantastic._

That is, of course, until Blaine's treacherous stomach started complaining. He hadn't finished his food at lunch after the fight with Mercedes, and he was starving. Kurt got up, one hand flying to his clothes to smooth them down. "Come on, you need food."

He followed Kurt into the kitchen, where he was rummaging in a cupboard. He ran a hand through his hair, the gel almost completely gone. That probably meant it was all over Kurt's scatter cushions, he thought guiltily.

He came up behind Kurt. "What are you…"

Kurt span around and shoved a cookie into his open mouth. "There you go. That'll stop you collapsing before dinner's ready."

He slipped out from an astonished Blaine and headed over to the enormous fridge. Blaine took a bite of the cookie before he choked, scattering crumbs everywhere. "Wha awe ea-in'?" he mumbled.

Kurt turned to face him reproachfully, and Blaine quickly swallowed. "I said 'what are we eating'?"

Kurt turned back to the fridge. "I don't know yet, I'm not sure what I've got the ingredients for."

"We could get takeout?" Blaine suggested. "Or, like, grilled cheeses or something."

Kurt looked back at him, one eyebrow raised. "I do _not_ serve grilled cheeses in this apartment, Blaine. Seriously, do you live on toast and takeout?"

Blaine tried to look innocent. "Erm…maybe?"

Kurt just rolled his eyes. "I should've guessed. No, we're going to make something nice. Nice and not containing six days' worth of calories." He looked back into the fridge. "What about risotto? With mushrooms?"

"I can't cook, Kurt. At all. I'm pretty sure I burned water one time."

Kurt grabbed a couple of packets and a bottle of wine and shut the door, turning to face Blaine with a bemused expression. "I'm sure you're not that bad."

"No, seriously. I can't even cook pasta. I can just about handle coffee, that's _it_."

Kurt smirked. "Well then, it's lucky you have an excellent teacher."

"I don't want to ruin it…"

"You won't, I'll help you!" Blaine still didn't look convinced. "Please?" A look flashed across Kurt's face then. "What about if I bribe you?"

Blaine laughed at the smug smile on his face. "Oh, and what are you going to bribe me with?"

Kurt grinned and leant forwards until their lips were an inch apart. "Kisses," he breathed, hesitating before pulling away.

"Oh." Blaine cleared his throat. "Well, I…I guess that could work."

Kurt had him chopping mushrooms and setting the table, and forty minutes later they were sat down. Blaine had found a tealight candle in one of the cupboards and it stood on the table between them, making Kurt's skin glow.

There was an awkward silence at first. This was the closest they'd ever come to the usual dinner-and-drinks date, and it felt odd when they were so far beyond that.

"This is amazing, Kurt," Blaine commented.

"Thanks, it's the marsala. It was a really old bottle, so the flavours have really matured."

Blaine nodded and took another forkful of risotto. He looked up to see Kurt suppressing a smile and then they were both giggling.

"This is so weird," Kurt laughed. "We can talk forever about everything, and then you put us in a date setting and we're hopeless."

Blaine reached across the table with his free hand, and Kurt switched his fork to the other hand and took it, gazing at Blaine with a happy sigh. "I'm so glad we're here. Doing this."

"Eating?"

"No…just doing normal things. Couple things."

Blaine's smile grew impossibly wide. "Me too, always. I love you."

"I love you too." Blaine's heart leapt at the words, no matter how many times he'd already heard them today. Every time felt like the first time, over and over again.

Kurt looked down at his plate, trailing his fork through the rice. "Blaine, I…I have a question." He sounded nervous.

Blaine frowned. "Are you ok? Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing like that! The opposite, in fact." He looked back up at Blaine. "I thought maybe…if you wanted to…you could stay the night?"

Blaine took in a deep breath. Whatever he'd been expecting, it hadn't been that.

In the past few weeks they hadn't had much time alone, but when they did they had some of the most spectacular make-out sessions known to man. Blaine loved kissing Kurt, and all of the breathy noises and soft sighs that came with it, and of course he'd assumed that at some point they'd have sex. But there had been an unspoken agreement between them that when things got too much they'd stop.

"I'd love to," he said quietly, and he saw Kurt breathe out in relief. "I, um, just so we're on the same page, you want to make love to me?"

Kurt met his gaze, smiling brilliantly. "Make love?"

Blaine shuffled uncomfortably. "I know it sounds stupid, but I…that's what I want."

Kurt shook his head quickly. "It doesn't sound stupid at all. It's beautiful."

"So we…"

"Yes. If you want."

Blaine smiled at that. "I really do."

They lost themselves for a second, gazing into each other's eyes with a sort of mischievous excitement.

"I feel like I should tell you, I'm not…I mean, I haven't…" Kurt hesitated. "I'm not very experienced. There were a couple of guys in college, but ever since…"

Blaine leaned across the table to cup his cheek in his hand. "Hey, it's ok. We'll go slowly."

Kurt smiled back. "Ok. I just thought you should know."

Blaine withdrew his hand but lifted their joined hands from the table and kissed Kurt's knuckles softly. "I love you. This is just another way to show that love."

"How do you always know what to say?"

They changed the subject while they finished their meal, chatting about musicals and sharing stories of glee club dramas from high school. Neither of them mentioned what they were about to do, but it was there behind their words. Every smile and laugh, every gesture, was imbued with love, and with the promise of what was to come.

When they finished Blaine made a move to clear the dishes, but Kurt stopped him.

"We can do that tomorrow."

Blaine pushed his chair back and stood up. He offered a hand which Kurt took, and he pulled the other man in close, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "It's ok if you don't want to. We could just watch a movie and cuddle."

Kurt was gazing at him with soft, hazy eyes. "No. I… I want this. With you." He kissed Blaine, slightly harder than before, so he could feel Blaine's lips give way beneath the kiss. Blaine groaned slightly and pulled his body flush against him, parting his lips so that when they kissed again he could feel the heat of Kurt's breath in his mouth. Their tongues tangled together, slow and lazy, familiar and comforting.

Kurt started to move them, stumbling and tripping over each other's legs, towards the bedroom door. They bumped into the doorframe on the way, causing Blaine to break the kiss with an exclamation and a giggle, and then the back of his knees hit the bed and he was falling backwards, with Kurt landing on top of him.

They laughed breathlessly, but then Blaine got distracted by how close his lips were to Kurt's. He leant upwards, kissing his lips gently, then his chin, slowly making his way up Kurt's jawbone with soft pecks and warm, open mouthed kisses. He could smell Kurt's cologne at the spot under his ear, the same cologne that still floated enticingly through his dreams, and he pressed his tongue to the spot, tasting the sharpness of the scent and the musky taste of _Kurt_ underneath it.

"_Blaine…_" Kurt's eyes fluttered shut, and Blaine carried on sucking gently at the patch of skin, inhaling the smell of rain.

Kurt's hand tangling into his hair made him look up and Kurt pulled him in for another kiss, slipping his tongue into Blaine's mouth immediately. It was fast and hard and sloppy, nothing like their controlled kisses earlier, and Blaine felt his cock twitch as Kurt licked past his lips, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth, then behind his teeth, not letting Blaine respond for a long minute until their tongues pressed together again and he moaned into Blaine's mouth.

"Fuck, Blaine, you can't _do_ stuff like that!" he panted.

Blaine kissed him on the edge of his jaw. "Can I… can I take your shirt off?"

Kurt hesitated, then nodded. Blaine shuffled backwards up the bed and then rolled them over until he was hanging over Kurt. "You – are – so – beautiful," he whispered, popping open a button between each word and leaning down to press a kiss to each inch of skin as it was revealed.

Kurt sat up on his elbows. "You too…shirt off."

Blaine smiled against the smooth skin of his stomach. "Bossy, are we?"

Kurt smacked his head playfully and Blaine sat up, his thighs bracketing Kurt's as he slowly opened the buttons. He enjoyed the way Kurt's mouth opened slightly and his eyes darkened as he watched. He shuffled to sit up underneath Blaine, running one hand down his chest and sliding the other to anchor himself around his waist. Blaine felt his stomach muscles contract at Kurt's touch, and Kurt's eyes widened.

"Kurt… we don't have to do this."

Kurt shook his head. "No, I want to. Really. I… I really do." He leant forwards into another kiss, and Blaine could feel that Kurt was hard through his jeans too. Kurt groaned at friction. "_Fuck_, Blaine, why are we still wearing pants?"

The sound of Kurt, beautiful, angelic Kurt, swearing did something to Blaine, and he felt his hips thrust up involuntarily. "Not sure I can move."

Kurt chuckled and reached for his zipper, tugging it down quickly and pushing Blaine's jeans over his hips until he had to roll away to pull them off with his underwear. He had no idea where they went, more focused on the sight of Kurt lying on the bed in just his jeans, propped up on his elbows and looking thoroughly debauched, with mussed up hair and swollen lips.

"These need to come off," he muttered, trying to peel the skin tight material away from Kurt's hips.

Kurt giggled quietly and stood up to wriggle out of them, his underwear coming down too. "They're too tight for this. Consider the mood ruined."

Blaine shook his head, moving forwards until they were pressed together, _really_ pressed together this time, skin to skin. "No it's not," he said gently. "It's perfect."

He walked them back towards the bed, crawling into the middle and moving Kurt onto his back. He kissed his lips softly, then moved down to his neck, laying a trail of kisses down to his collarbone and sucking lightly there until the skin started to turn red. Kurt was lying back, eyes shut, letting out little whimpers whenever Blaine touched his skin a little harder. "You're gorgeous, Kurt," he mumbled against the skin of his shoulder. "Beautiful." He kissed just below his collarbone. "Kind." He let his tongue run slowly over Kurt's nipple, tracing the outline of the downy hairs around it, and Kurt choked back a cry. "Intelligent." He mouthed at Kurt's stomach, letting his tongue dart out to taste. "Funny." He dipped his tongue into Kurt's belly button. "Wonderful." He ran his tongue lightly down his hipbone, ignoring the broken moan that came from Kurt. "Perfect." He kissed gently at Kurt's navel, at the place where his swollen cock nestled in a patch of neat hair. Kurt groaned and his hips arched off the bed. Blaine ran his fingertips down his sides, moving his hands to rest on Kurt's hips and hold them down. "I love you," he whispered into Kurt's skin, like he was sharing a secret. Kurt's cock was resting against his cheek, fully hard and leaking, and he placed a series of light kisses up a vein on the side while Kurt cried and writhed above him. "God, Blaine, _please_…"

He kissed the top of Kurt's cock softly and slid his lips over the head, sucking lightly.

"_Fuck_, that's…you…"

Blaine sunk down further, running his tongue down the side.

"Holy _shit!_"

Blaine pulled off and smirked up at Kurt. "Ok?"

Kurt looked dazed. "Wh… _Blaine!"_

He laughed and wrapped his hand around Kurt's erection, sliding the spit down the shaft, then took Kurt back into his mouth with his hand around the part he couldn't reach. He bobbed his head tentatively, shifting his arm to press Kurt's hips into the bed when he tried to buck up again. He sucked lightly when he pulled back, pumping his fist in time with his mouth.

Kurt moaned, long and low, and the sound went straight to Blaine's cock. He loved this. He loved being able to touch Kurt, to kiss him and _love_ him, and he loved that he was the only person who knew what Kurt tasted like, right at this moment. He'd heard people complain about the taste but Blaine loved the proof that Kurt was here, that he was letting Blaine do this for him, that he _wanted_ him.

Kurt's fingers tangled in his hair, tugging sharply. "Blaine, stop…I'm gonna…stop…"

Blaine pulled off, crawling back up Kurt's body to kiss his lips, letting his tongue dip into Kurt's mouth so he could taste his own precome. Kurt moaned. "Blaine, I want… I need you. Inside me, please…"

Blaine pulled back a few inches. "Are you sure? I thought…"

Kurt leant up and kissed him again. "Please."

What could he say to that? "Do you have…"

"In the nightstand."

Blaine reached over, fumbling in the drawer until he pulled out a box of condoms and a bottle of lube. The movement caused their cocks to rub together and he moaned softly, suddenly painfully aware that he'd been hard for 20 minutes and he hadn't touched himself once.

He fumbled with the bottle, squirting too much onto his fingers and spreading it around to warm it up. Kurt was reclining on the bed, all shyness gone, watching him hungrily. Blaine crawled back up his body, leaning forwards to place a hard kiss against his lips. Kurt grabbed his head in both hands, fingers twisting into his curls, and pulled him down for a longer kiss, their mouths moving together, hot and wet and open. He brushed over Kurt's cock, fingers trailing down over his perineum to circle gently around his hole.

"Blaine, come _on_…"

Blaine chuckled deep in his throat at the whine in Kurt's voice. He pushed the tip of his finger in slightly, swallowing Kurt's moan in a long, drawn-out kiss. He could feel Kurt bearing down around his finger, trying to push back onto him, and he had to bite back a groan. He felt Kurt's muscles relax slightly around him, and he pushed in further, feeling Kurt, hot and fuck, so tight, around him. God knew it had been a long time since he'd had sex, but he'd still never wanted someone this much. The more time spent around Kurt the more he appreciated his company, but also the less control he had over his emotions. What had started out as desire was becoming difficult to reign in when he saw Kurt looking quite so perfect, so inherently _sexy_ on an everyday basis. Everything from eating a sandwich and absent-mindedly licking a smear of mayonnaise off his lip, to laughing at something Blaine had said with his head thrown back and eyes sparkling, ignited something in Blaine's chest that made him want to make Kurt his across the desk in his office.

Kurt was everything; a beautiful, witty, kind, incredible human being, but also someone who was always in control. Blaine wanted to make him fall apart, to forget to regulate his feelings and his expressions, to come undone in every way possible. Blaine wasn't exactly a selfish lover, but he'd never not cared about his own pleasure before. Right now, all he wanted was to make Kurt so incredibly, blissfully happy.

He crooked his finger, smiling smugly when Kurt let out a shout and a stream of expletives. "_Fuck_, Blaine, just there…more, _please_…"

He sounded so helpless, looking up at Blaine with his eyebrows drawn together and a pleading expression on his face.

"More…"

Blaine kissed him again, working an extra finger into him and scissoring them, feeling Kurt stretch around his fingers. He was so tight.

He added a third finger at Kurt's insistence, unable to stop his hips bucking down onto Kurt's thigh at the howl he let out when he found his prostate again.

"Blaine, I need you in me!"

Blaine paused, watching his face carefully. The hesitant boy, insecure and cautious, from earlier had gone, replaced with a man who met his gaze firmly, the flush on his cheeks tempered with the sheer amount of love radiating from him.

"I love you so much, Kurt," Blaine whispered, and then felt ridiculous when he realised his fingers were still inside him.

Kurt just smiled back, bringing a hand up to caress Blaine's cheek, his index finger trailing down Blaine's jaw. "I love you too. I trust you, Blaine, and I want you to make love to me."

His voice was steady, sure, and really, what could he say to that? Blaine sealed their lips together, kissing him passionately before pulling back to open the condom wrapper, his hands shaking too much to get a grip on the foil. Kurt laughed a little and took it off him, opening it easily and rolling it onto Blaine. How did he manage to be so cool when a minute ago he'd been falling apart and, more to the point, how did he manage to make the gesture so fucking intimate? Kurt's legs came up to wrap tightly around Blaine's waist, pressing his own cock into Blaine's stomach and drawing them even closer together. Blaine kissed him again, guiding himself with one hand to line up with Kurt's entrance and pushing in slowly. He felt Kurt breathe sharply into his mouth when he entered, a soft moan falling from his lips. He held himself still, shaking with the effort when Kurt was clenching around the head of his dick, perfectly hot and tight.

He felt Kurt nod where his head was resting against Blaine's shoulder, and he pushed in slowly, gasping when Kurt bit sharply onto the tendon at the junction with his neck. A spark of arousal shot through him, and it took all of his willpower not to thrust in hard. They were joined completely, skin pressed against skin, chest to chest, cheek to cheek.

Kurt's lips grazed his earlobe. "_Move_, Blaine," he whispered, and Blaine's self-control disappeared in a second as his hips snapped forwards with a choked shout.

Kurt's giggle turned into a moan in an instant and his hands gripped Blaine's back, nails digging into his skin. Blaine couldn't have stopped now, settling into a fast rhythm as he leant down to kiss Kurt and that changed the angle just enough so that Kurt cried out. "_Fuck_, yes, right there!" They kissed, all tongue and teeth, battling for dominance. Kurt was moaning and writhing below him, rising to meet Blaine thrust for thrust, and Blaine had to squeeze his eyes shut to concentrate on not coming right then and there.

"Kurt, I'm so close," he murmured.

Kurt pulled him into another hot, dirty kiss before panting into his mouth "Fuck, me too."

He could feel his thrusts becoming more erratic, and Kurt's head was slamming back into the pillow as he arched upwards. He fastened his hand around Kurt's cock, pumping his hand in time with his hips. Kurt twisted a hand into his hair and pulled him back down to fasten their lips together, Blaine's hand around his cock trapped tightly between them as he jerked him in sharp tugs. Kurt cried out, arching off the bed one more time and shouting Blaine's name as he came in long spurts between them.

Blaine groaned at the sensation of Kurt's interior muscles clenching around him. He could feel the familiar tightness clawing at his belly and he buried his head into Kurt's neck, thrusting once, twice more before he came.

His vision blacked out for a second, and all he was aware of was the wave of pleasure rushing through him, and the sound of Kurt, not quite drowned out by the pounding of blood, whispering _I love you_ into his ear.

He collapsed, panting, on top of Kurt, vaguely aware that he was lying on top of the other man but not quite aware enough to care. They lay for a minute or longer, chests moving in tandem as their breathing slowed and they started to regain their senses.

Blaine reluctantly pulled the condom off, tying it into something resembling a knot and throwing it somewhere onto the floor. He shuffled until his lips could reach Kurt and he started kissing him softly on any part of his face he could reach, down a cheek and on his eyelid and on the edge of his lips until Kurt was giggling and squirming, trying to push him off.

"Mmm, no, stay still…" Blaine reached his mouth and that stopped him from moving for a long moment.

Eventually Kurt pushed him off, laughing. "No, I'm all sticky…"

Blaine captured his lips once more. "Don't leave me." He fastened his arms tight around Kurt's waist, wiggling down until his head was level with Kurt's shoulder and snuggling into his chest, savouring the feeling of warm skin under his arms and the slow thud of the heartbeat under his ear. His eyelids were suddenly heavy, and he felt Kurt's chest vibrate slightly as he sighed and half-heartedly scrubbed at the come on his chest with the sheet.

"Just this once," he murmured, and Blaine smiled sleepily at the fond exasperation in his voice.

"There's going to be another time?" he said hopefully.

Kurt chuckled quietly above him, his arm threading through Blaine's to rest on his bicep, the other moving to stroke Blaine's side gently. "There'd better be. You're not bad, you know, Anderson."

Blaine grinned into Kurt's skin, inhaling the scent of sweat and come and the slightest remains of Kurt's cologne. "You too, Hummel."

His eyes were shut, and he could feel sleep begin to overtake him. Kurt shifted so that his lips pressed into Blaine's hair. "I love you. So, so much."

Blaine murmured back. "I love you too."

He nearly missed the next words, they were whispered so quietly. "Please don't ever leave me."

"Never," he mumbled, before the blackness hit him and he drifted into unconsciousness. "You're m'everything."

* * *

***wipes away a tear* This is my first time writing real smut, so I would really appreciate constructive criticism. Thanks to youngandobsessed who read this through for me when we were on something like chapter 6!**


	14. Chapter 14

**First of all, huge apologies for the wait! RL has got in the way the last few weeks, but I finally got this up! Unfortunately (well, sort of!) I'm on holiday for the next month or so** **and I'll have very limited access to both a computer and internet. It will be at least 2 weeks until the next chapter, but I promise to get it published at some point while I'm away, so it shouldn't be too long a wait.**

**I had an incredible response to the last chapter, so thankyou so much for your reviews! I'm going to stop rambling now, so here's the chapter.**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, Kurt Hummel or Blaine Anderson. If I did, they would cuddle all the time. That would be the whole program.**

* * *

Blaine woke up slowly. He was warm and comfortable, floating on the quickly-fading memories of his dream. It had been beautiful, an explosion of euphoric emotions that had little meaning or sense. As he became conscious the last remnants disappeared, leaving him feeling relaxed and inexplicably happy.

Something moved underneath his cheek, and then it came crashing back to him. He felt a grin spread across his face. _You're in Kurt's bed. Last night you made love to him. You're lying…on top of him?_ He cracked his eyes open an inch and realised that he was lying on his side, head pillowed on Kurt's chest and one arm slung loosely across his stomach. Kurt was facing him, still asleep. The worry lines semi-permanently etched into his forehead were gone, leaving him looking younger than before, and breathtakingly beautiful.

Blaine tried to move away gently but Kurt's arm shot out, grabbing his forearm and tugging him back to where he'd been. "Five more minutes," he mumbled.

Blaine smiled and leant over him to kiss him gently. "Morning, beautiful."

Kurt smiled slowly, lazily, without opening his eyes. "Mm, I could get used to this."

They lay in bed, occasionally trading kisses, until eventually Kurt dragged them up and into the kitchen for breakfast. They walked in, practically skipping, and stopped dead when they saw the mess that littered the counters.

It was like walking into the Marie Celeste, a room showing life interrupted. The table was as they'd left it, empty plates still in their places, glasses of wine still half-drunk. The candle had burnt down to nothing, their napkins were tossed onto the table. It was a tableau, a snapshot from the night before.

"Ah," said Kurt after a pause. "I forgot about that."

Blaine looked around, taking in the cooking detritus that seemed to cover every single surface. "How did we use that much stuff?"

Kurt smirked. "Well, I _may_ have asked you to get down a few extra things from the high cupboards." Blaine turned to face him, eyes narrowed. "What? I got a really good view of your ass."

"Kurt!" Blaine wasn't sure he could be any happier than in that moment. Kurt's throwaway comment felt so familiar, so _normal_, and he looked so beautiful with his hair still ruffled from sleep, laughing, completely uninhibited, only wearing a t shirt and tracksuit pants. This must be what it felt like to wake up to someone, he realised, to wake up to someone every day for the rest of your life. The thought was a warm weight that settled comfortably in his belly. The rest of his life. That sounded like a promise.

They cleared up the mess together – or rather, Kurt cleared it up because Blaine didn't know where anything went, but he followed Kurt round the kitchen anyway, just for the chance to slip his fingers underneath Kurt's t shirt every once in a while and feel the life humming under his skin.

Kurt winced slightly as he bent down to put something away in a low cupboard, and Blaine immediately noticed.

"Oh God, Kurt, I'm so sorry. Are you ok?"

Kurt straightened up, confused. "Yes, of course I am."

"But you're sore!" Blaine burst out. "Was I too rough? I'm so, so sorry, I love you, I'm sorry…" He broke off when he saw Kurt was laughing. "What?"

Kurt walked over, the hitch in his stride barely noticeable. He slid his arms round Blaine's waist where he sat on a stool by the breakfast bar, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. "It's fine. It was always going to be a little bit sore." Blaine looked like he was about to protest, but Kurt cut him off. "There is no way I can not have sex for 6 years and then not have a problem when I have sex again. It's _fine_."

"Well, if you're sure…"

"Of course I'm sure!" Kurt said exasperatedly. "Blaine, I love you, and last night was fantastic!"

Blaine smiled at that. "It was pretty good, wasn't it?"

Kurt shuffled forward so he was pressed against him, arms tight around his waist. "It was the best night of my life."

Blaine thought he was about to faint from happiness. "Me too."

"Really?" Kurt asked quietly, and Blaine brought a hand up to loop round his neck. It wasn't to pull Kurt closer; it was an anchor, something to hold onto to remind himself that this man really existed and he was really his.

"How can you doubt it? I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about you, Kurt. I love you more than I ever knew was possible. Last night…it was perfect. I had sex with the man I love in the most intimate, beautiful way possible."

Kurt didn't reply, and Blaine realise his eyes were wet with tears. "Kurt, what is it?"

Kurt shook his head. "I just…I can't believe you're real sometimes. I can't believe you chose me."

"I'll always choose you," Blaine whispered, and he couldn't give a fuck if it was cheesy because his throat was tight and he was fighting tears of his own.

They separated after a long minute, both wiping their eyes not-particularly-discreetly on their hands and laughing a bit. It was awkward and stupid and it felt _right_.

Kurt laughed nervously. "Look at us. We can't talk about anything without crying."

Blaine cupped his cheek in his hand, slowly wiping away a tear with the pad of his thumb. "But they're always happy tears, right?"

Kurt smiled widely. "Yes."

They had cereal for breakfast with tiny shots of espresso, both too tired to cook anything else. Blaine insisted on pulling Kurt's chair out for him and fetching things from the fridge, while Kurt complained and fidgeted and pretended not to be secretly pleased.

It was already midday, so after breakfast they sat at opposite ends of the couch, legs tangled between them, to talk. Of course, this being them, they ended up just staring at each other, blushing and looking away every so often and then looking back. It was juvenile and sickeningly sweet and so completely perfect.

Eventually Kurt shook his head, smiling. "Come on, we should actually do something with the day."

"Hmm?" Blaine asked distractedly, eyes trained on his lips. Kurt smacked him lightly and he yelped. "What?"

"I said we should do something today. Like, something outside this room."

"Do we have to?" Kurt hit him again and he protested. "Ok, ok!"

Kurt laughed breathlessly. "Come on, it's a beautiful day!"

Blaine smiled at him. "Someone's happy."

Kurt grinned back, reaching out to grab his hand and lace their fingers together. "Aren't you?"

"Very."

Kurt wriggled so their legs were even more pressed together. "So what do you want to do?"

Blaine groaned and stretched. "I just want to be with you, and if we're out in public we can't hold hands, or touch, or kiss…"

Kurt's smile faded, and Blaine hurriedly corrected himself. "No, that's not a problem! But today, they day after we…" He trailed off and Kurt smiled. "I just want to be close to you." He had a sudden idea. "Why don't you come to my apartment? You could meet Wes and hang out and…stuff."

"That…that sounds, nice actually."

"Yeah?"

Kurt grinned excitedly at him. "Yeah. On one condition."

"What?"

Kurt shuffled around and crawled forwards up Blaine's body until their lips were an inch apart. "Afterwards we come back here and make love all night long."

Blaine could feel Kurt's breath hot on his lips. "Wes and Emma always do the shopping on a Saturday, and they should be out for at least another few hours…"

Kurt sat up quickly. "In that case, you grab your jacket and a cab and I'll do my hair, and I might _almost_ have enough time to do what I want with you."

Blaine groaned, but Kurt had already disappeared. "Why are you doing your hair? We're only going to my place!"

He heard Kurt's voice from the direction of the bedroom. "Yes, but I know how much you like messing it up!"

Blaine shut his eyes at the images that flooded his mind, before jumping up and running for the elevator. He needed a taxi _now_.

* * *

Blaine opened the door and flicked on the lights. "Wes?" he yelled. When there was no answer he turned to Kurt with a very un-Blaine-like smirk on his face. "It would appear we're alone."

Kurt laughed. "It would appear so. Whatever shall we do?"

"I can think of a thing or two…" Blaine trailed off when Kurt shut the door behind them and stepped closer with a glint in his eyes. "Kurt?"

"Yes?" Kurt stepped closer again and Blaine stepped back in tandem until they were pressed against the wall. Kurt moved his head so his nose skimmed up Blaine's jaw.

"I…um…"

He let his tongue flick out underneath Blaine's ear, following it with a slow, soft kiss.

"Ah, Kurt, don't stop…"

Kurt smiled against the skin and sucked on it gently, catching it between his teeth for a moment and then laving it with his tongue.

Blaine was pretty sure his eyes rolled back in his head at that. "_God_, don't stop…" Kurt sucked on the spot again, harder, and Blaine let out a low moan. He angled his head down for a kiss, and Kurt complied by sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and then biting on it.

"Holy f-" Blaine pulled away. "You're so fucking cute and then you turn into the sexiest little…" He broke off in favour of kissing him again, wanting to feel their tongues, lips, hot and dirty and sloppy. Kurt pushed his leg in between Blaine's so he could feel his erection pressing against his thigh. Blaine moaned, rolling his hips upwards so they slotted together, and even through both of their jeans it was heaven. Blaine fisted his hands into Kurt's hair, wanting to pull him impossibly closer until they stopped being two people and became one. Kurt groaned into his mouth and kissed him deeper, until it almost seemed like they were.

Unfortunately, that meant that neither of them heard the door open.

"Blaine? Are you…fuck!"

It took Blaine a second for is brain to catch up and work out where Kurt's lips had gone, and then he jumped, bashing into Kurt who was staring at Wes like a rabbit caught in the headlights. "Ow!"

"Shit, Kurt, I'm so sorry! I…"

"Blaine, it's fine! Um…"

Blaine looked around at Wes. He was standing with his mouth open and staring with wide eyes at Kurt. "Um…hi, man."

Wes turned on the spot to look at Blaine without altering his expression an inch. "You…he…"

Blaine knew his face was crimson. "Uh, yeah. Wes, this is Kurt. Kurt, Wes. My roommate. Yeah."

"He was…" He seemed to pull himself together, because he fixed his features into a weak smile. "Kurt. Right. Hi."

Kurt smiled shakily back. "Hi. We, um, we were going to do this differently."

Blaine stepped forward, taking Kurt's hand. "I should do this again. Wes, this is Kurt, my boyfriend."

Wes nodded. "Yeah, I got that bit."

"Right, of course."

Silence fell over the three men standing in the hallway, each determined not to meet anyone else's eyes. It was broken by Emma, waltzing into the apartment. "Wes, I…oh, hey, Kurt! Blaine, nice hickey!"

Wes turned to her slowly. "You _knew_ about this?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course I did. Honestly, I might be the only person with any sort of intuition in this apartment, but at least I put it to good use!"

Wes gaped at her as she walked down to the kitchen, dumping her bag on the counter. "So, Blaine, I want all the dirty details."

Blaine groaned slightly and turned to hide his head in Kurt's shirt.

"Hiding isn't going to help! I want to know everything!"

"Don't say anything, Kurt," he mumbled into the fabric. "She might get bored and go away."

"Not a chance!"

Blaine turned back to her, glaring. "I forgot you have freakishly good hearing."

She was sitting perched on a chair, legs crossed and a smirk playing across her features. "Be nice, Blainers, because someone didn't come home last night."

Blaine shut his eyes and counted to three slowly. "Emma, I swear to god, I will hate you until my dying day if you don't leave us alone _right now_." He turned to Kurt. "Come with me?"

Kurt nodded and he led him down the hallway to his bedroom. He glanced at Emma before he went in, taking in her cat-that-got-the-cream grin, and couldn't find the words to express quite how infuriating she was.

Behind him he heard Wes mumble something, and Emma replied in that voice which meant she was laying on the innuendos thick and fast. He shut the door behind them and turned to face Kurt, who was smiling slightly.

"So…" He trailed off. "Sorry about him. He doesn't understand the meaning of subtlety."

Kurt sat down on the bed. "To be fair, _we_ weren't exactly being subtle either."

Blaine took in his messed up hair, flushed cheeks and wrinkled clothes. "Ah. I get what you mean."

Kurt just laughed and pulled him down onto the bed too, scooting over until they were lying down facing one another.

"Maybe we could go and introduce you properly? After Emma's finished grossly exaggerating our sex life?"

"Yeah, that sounds good."

Kurt ran his hands up Blaine's bare arms, letting his fingers trace the contours of the muscle. It was relaxing, and Blaine let his eyes fall shut, focusing on the soft brush of skin on his arm and the sound of Kurt's breathing.

"Do you want to talk about why you were upset yesterday?"

Blaine's eyes shot open and he stiffened. "Not really." Kurt didn't reply, just kept stroking his fingers, and he sighed, looking at the wall rather than meeting Kurt's gaze. "It's not that I don't trust you, believe me. I just…I don't want her to ruin our time together. She's done enough."

"Mercedes?"

"Yeah."

Kurt hesitated, then spoke quietly. "It might help. I love you."

Blaine met his eyes then and the openness in his gaze disarmed him. The armour was gone, and what was left was unguarded, fragile, beautiful. He felt like he could see Kurt's soul through those eyes.

He was quiet, trying to put his thoughts in order. Kurt ran his hand back down his arm to his waist, and the weight of it grounded him, like it had last night, this morning, and like it would the next day too, and the next.

Lying on top of the covers, face to face with arms wrapped tightly around one another, Blaine began to speak. He told Kurt everything: every hook-up, every fling, every 11am phone call full of details of the night before. He told him about David, about the night he'd introduced them, and every damn word of the argument the day before.

He started to talk about his emotions. Had he ever done this before? His parents had been loving to an extent but distant. His father had always treated excessive emotion as distasteful, and his mother pretended it didn't exist. He'd had friends, people like Wes who he knew cared about him, loved him, even, but who he didn't want to weigh down with his problems. He'd had Sebastian for a while, but they'd barely talked above the most superficial level. He was used to internalising his feelings, letting them fill him up until he could feel the anger bubbling under his voice when he spoke, and then he poured it all out into a song or a punchbag. It was as effective a method as any. He didn't really have another option. Nobody wanted to be burdened with his ridiculous ability to feel _everything_.

He talked about guilt. Guilt for introducing them, guilt for not warning David, guilt for being so wrapped up in his own overwhelming happiness that he'd forgotten that the rest of the world was still turning. He spoke of contempt, for all of those tens, hundreds of thousands of people, living their lives in parallel with his own, who treated sex as a recreational sport and love as a dirty word. And pity, more pity than he could bear, for those same people, living without loving, and for Mercedes especially, the expert in hiding her heart away where it would never be found. To never fall in love – he looked up at Kurt to see him crying silently– seemed the cruellest of fates. Sympathy, too, for David, a man who gave his heart too easily and lost it every time.

He poured his heart out onto the pillow, and Kurt took it in both hands and held it safe.

He stopped talking when he ran out of words, and Kurt took him into his arms and held him close. Blaine shut his eyes and concentrated on Kurt's heartbeat under his ear. The regular thud, thud seemed to sink into his body until he wasn't sure if it was his own heart he felt or Kurt's. The tears dried on his cheeks and he felt hollow, empty. He suddenly wanted to take all the words back, to put them back inside where they would fill him up and make him angry again, because being angry was easier than being nothing. He just felt tired.

Kurt spoke. "Are you going to talk to her?"

He sighed. "I have to, for David's sake at least. I should talk to him, too."

He stopped, and Kurt didn't push him. He kept running his hands through Blaine's hair, wrapping the curls round a finger and letting them spring free. It was relaxing.

"The things she said…" He shut his eyes and he could hear it again, drowning out Kurt's heartbeat. "She was cruel. She said things about us, she said that I was insecure and I was kidding myself. I'm not, Kurt, I _love_ you, she doesn't understand. She'll never have what we have." He realised that his voice had transformed into something else at the end, something bitter and mean. He didn't sound like himself, and for a second he was disgusted. "I don't mean that. I hope she does, one day, everyone should. She just…she knew _exactly_ which buttons to push. As soon as she started talking about us I lost it."

Kurt's fingers paused in his hair. "It sounds like she was scared."

Blaine almost snorted. "Scared? Of what? She doesn't have feelings, remember?" He felt Kurt still around him and he caught himself again. "Sorry, I know that's not true. She made me so angry."

"Maybe she was trying to?" Kurt hesitated. "I know I don't know her or David, but it sounds like she's avoiding having to talk about it." His fingers started moving again and Blaine hummed in contentment.

"I guess. The thing is, she doesn't do feelings. Ever. She doesn't have boyfriends, she doesn't sleep with the same person more than a few times, she gets out as soon as the guy shows signs of actually caring about her. She says she's just having fun and she doesn't want to settle down, and that's fine, I suppose. If that's what she really wants, it's her choice, even if I think she's making a mistake. But David… he's so in love with the idea of love that he falls head over heels for every girl he meets. She's beautiful, smart; he'll have been seeing hearts as soon as they met. It was _cruel_ of her to involve him, especially after I'd told her what he's like!" A thought suddenly struck him. "She dumped him, and I know that because we _laughed_ about it! We sat there and laughed because wasn't it funny, Mercedes had got through another one!"

His voice had risen while he was talking until he was almost shouting by the end. Kurt held him tighter and he breathed in the scent of cologne from his sweater, feeling the wool scratch his nose and letting the thud, thud calm him down.

"You have to talk to her."

"I know. I just don't want to. Because I want to blame her for all of this, I want it so badly. But I can't, can I? I've watched her go through at least, what, six men since I've known her? I never said anything. For all I know, she broke all of their hearts too, and I did _nothing_."

"Blaine, stop it," Kurt said firmly. "You're putting too much blame on yourself, and you're putting too much blame on her, too. Those six guys, how many of them do you think went home with a girl and expected her lifelong love? How many of them even expected a _date_? They were taking advantage of her just as much as she was taking advantage of them, that's how it works. She was wrong to do that to David, but what were you supposed to do? Keep them locked in separate rooms? He's an adult who should know better, and so is she."

"Yes, but…"

"They have to make their own mistakes. Mercedes…I don't know. I think she's confused." Blaine made a noise of disbelief. "She has feelings, Blaine, everyone does. Just because she buries them deeper than most doesn't mean they won't surface eventually. It sounds to me like she's found herself feeling something for someone and it's scared her."

Blaine thought about it. He remembered the woman who laughed off the idea of love and who delighted in being independent, showing off the stream of lovers who appeared and then disappeared without trace. But then he remembered her defensiveness, the way she'd changed the subject by making Blaine angry, her comment that _not everyone wants a house, two kids and a dog_. He remembered her tears when they watched that movie, and yes, it was a _movie_, but it at least proved she had a heart.

He didn't know what to think. "I'll call David. I should at least find out what he feels about this. And then I'll talk to her."

He felt Kurt press a kiss to the top of his head and shut his eyes. "I'm sorry today didn't go as planned. We were supposed to be having excitable, loved-up sex now, not sitting here with me crying over you."

He felt the vibrations of Kurt's laugh against his cheek. "There's nothing to apologise for. I'm here for you, that's what I'm for."

Blaine grinned. "That and excitable sex."

"Well it's only Saturday. We do have all of tomorrow for excitable sex."

"Don't you have work to do?" The crying had left him exhausted. Now that he'd let the pain dissipate his limbs were curiously light, like he was floating. He wanted to sleep.

Kurt winced. "Well, maybe not all of tomorrow, unless I stay up all night."

"Mm, if you're going to stay up all night I can think of better things to be doing."

"That would be sexier if you weren't yawning. Why don't you go to sleep now? I'll get my work done tomorrow morning, and if you wanted you could come round in the afternoon."

Blaine smiled. "Perfect. Could you…will you stay until I fall asleep?"

Kurt's arms slid tighter around his chest. "Of course."

* * *

**Reviews make me happy!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Apologies again for the delay! I very rarely have wifi so I've had a nightmare trying to post this. Hope you enjoy!**

**Warnings: NC-17**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Glee**

* * *

Blaine decided to talk to Mercedes as soon as possible, but that turned out to be easier said than done. He arrived in Beauty on Monday with a steaming latte and a cupcake from the little bakery near his apartment, only to be told that she'd already gone to lunch. The woman who said it shot a significant look at her friend, then turned to smile sweetly at Blaine and inform him that she probably wouldn't be here if he came back, either.

He resisted the urge to knock the precarious stack of papers off her desk, but only just.

He came back the next day anyway, sitting resolutely on Mercedes' desk for nearly an hour before he got a phone call from Santana, telling him to get his ass back to Kurt's office before she removed his balls with a rusty penknife. On Wednesday, he managed to actually see her before she swept past, not giving him a glance. Her mouth was set in a firm line and she refused to even acknowledge him when he called her name. Blaine left the department downhearted. What was he supposed to do when she wouldn't even talk to him? He wanted to apologise, but he also wanted to force her to open up to him. He hadn't completely accepted Kurt's theories, but he knew that there was more to Mercedes than her sense of humour and looks. She buried her emotions deep down but she was fierce in her love of her friends. She loved deeply, when she let herself.

He was surprised to come home on Thursday to find David sitting at his kitchen table with Emma, nursing a coffee. He looked up when Blaine opened the door, flashing him a bright smile.

"Blaine, hey! I haven't seen you in a while."

Blaine immediately felt guilty. He hadn't spoken to David in over a week, and he could hardly remember the last time they'd hung out.

"I know, I'm sorry, man."

The guilt must have shown on his face because David waved it off, still grinning. "Don't worry about it, I'm as much to blame as you. How are things?"

Blaine poured a coffee from the pot and slid into the chair opposite. "Things are good. Are you...you seem happy."

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, I guess I am." He paused, obviously fishing, and Blaine rolled his eyes. It was great to see David had gotten over Mercedes already, although he couldn't help but be surprised. Had he found a new girlfriend already?

"Come on, you're obviously dying to tell me," he teased. "What's happened?"

"I hope you don't mind, but you know you introduced us to your friend, Mercedes?" Blaine's breath caught as he listened to David chatter on, oblivious. "Well, we had a thing..." David blushed. "And we decided to make it official. I hope it's not weird, but she's just the most amazing girl..." He broke off, still smiling from ear to ear. "Sorry, I think I tend to go on about her a bit."

Emma lifted her head off her arms, slumped over the table. "You do. I know. I've been listening to your for the last half hour." She squeaked in protest at David's half-hearted shove. "I'm not saying it's not _cute_, but you talk more than I do, and that's a lot!"

Blaine watched this exchange in silence. His thoughts were in turmoil. They were official? What did that mean? Did it mean that Mercedes had actually consented to be the one thing she never had, someone's girlfriend? And why?

He scolded himself for that last thought. David wasn't just any guy – in fact, he was one of the best guys Blaine had ever known. He wasn't Blaine's type at all; they were far too similar for that. David needed someone with a bit of sass, like Kurt. His heart sank as he realised. Like Mercedes.

He tuned back into the conversation. "How did this happen? 'Cedes is usually..." He tried to think of a different word than 'man-eater'. "...not big on boyfriends."

David shrugged. "I persuaded her to change her mind." He still had that silly, love-struck look on his face, and for the first time Blaine smiled. He deserved to be happy and foolish and in love.

"I'm happy for you, man. Really."

David beamed back. "I'm glad." He glanced at his watch. "Shit, my shift starts in 20 minutes. We need to do something this week!"

Blaine nodded. "Halo tournament? Wes is starting to whine about how often he gets his ass handed to him."

David grinned. "Definitely. Is Sunday ok?"

"Sunday. I'll stock up on Lucozade and cookies."

"You've got it!"

David grabbed his jacket and left, calling out a goodbye to Emma as he walked out the door.

"So are you the communal agony aunt, now?" Blaine joked. "First me, now David."

"And Mercedes."

Blaine's face froze at her name. "I don't want to talk about that."

"Come on, Blaine! She's your friend, and you need her as much as she needs you!"

Blaine took a long drink of coffee, concentrating on the bitter liquid. "I'm not denying that."

Emma fixed him with her stare. "Don't give me that macho bullshit. She's your friend. You're pissed off with her, she's pissed off with you. One of you has to do something!"

"You think I haven't tried?" He burst out. "I've tried to talk to her every day this week, but she won't talk to me!"

Emma sighed. "She's angry! We're not rational when we're angry, you included. Do you not think that you hurt her on Friday too?"

She got up. "Just...think about it. I'll see you later."

He murmured as she left, still staring into his coffee cup and watching the liquid slowly turning. Kurt had said almost exactly the same thing. That was the problem with people who knew you inside out – they tended to be right.

* * *

Santana hustled him along the corridor. "It's on the top shelf, I can't reach it. It's a plastic box full of files, and Kurt needs them asap."

"Santana, I'm _shorter_ than you when you're wearing those shoes!"

She glanced over her shoulder with a smirk. "I'm aware, hence why I call you hobbit. But there is no way I'm risking scuffing a pair of new-season Louboutins just to get some musty old photos. That's why I have minions."

"I'm not your _minion_..."

"Sure, you're not, hobbit." She stopped by a plain door in the wall and unlocked it. He immediately decided he didn't want to know where she'd kept the key, considering that her dress was skin tight. "Come on, in you go. Top shelf, somewhere on the left."

He sighed, looking over his shoulder at her. "I don't know why you had to pick the shortest guy in the company to...hey!"

He'd collided with something, and he looked up to see Mercedes glaring at him and rubbing her upper arm.

"San..."

The door swung shut behind him and he heard the key turn in the lock. "Boss' orders, hobbit! I'm going to come back for you in 30 minutes, and if you haven't made up by then I'm going to sic my alter-ego on you!"

After that, the only sound was her heels fading away down the hall.

They were in a storage room, a couple of metres each way and lined with shelves of boxes. Strip lighting made the room unnaturally bright. Blaine turned to face Mercedes. She had her arms folded and looked decidedly unimpressed. Blaine wracked his brain for something to say.

"I thought the cliché was to have sex in the closet at the office. This just seems a bit weird." _Wow, brain. Smooth._

She snorted despite herself, then shook her head. "You never know what to say, do you?"

"It's a talent." She didn't reply, so he took a deep breath and started speaking. "We should probably talk about..."

Mercedes interrupted him. "Why did you say those things?"

Blaine was confused. "I didn't even know you were together, what was I supposed to say?"

"You could have asked me!" she shouted, then fell silent. In a much lower voice, she said "you could have asked. You jumped to conclusions."

"What do you mean?"

"You just assumed...what? That I fucked him and left him?"

He winced at the harshness in her voice. The words cut like a whip. "No! I just thought..."

"What? That I'm a bitch and I don't have feelings?"

"That's not what I..." He trailed off. What could he say?

She turned away and he saw her rub at her face with the heel of her hand. "Don't lie to me, Blaine. You as good as told me on Friday." She looked back at him, and the harsh light highlighted the stains of tears on her cheeks. "Is that what you think of me?"

Blaine just stared back, hopelessly confused, lost in the emotions tearing around in his head. In the end, he did the only thing he could process. He opened his arms, and Mercedes fell into them, sobbing.

"I'm not like that, Blaine, that's not who I am. I know I go on about being unattached, but that doesn't mean I'm a cruel person." She leant back enough to look into his eyes. "There's nothing wrong with having fun, as long as no one gets hurt, and they _don't_. I've never led someone on. I've never slept with someone who didn't know exactly what I wanted."

"But David..."

"I told him that first night, at the bar. I told him that I wasn't looking for a boyfriend, and that he should find someone else. I told him that I couldn't give him commitment. It's not my fault the idiot got my number off Emma and started texting me." She smiled fondly at the memory. "He kept calling me, saying that it didn't matter. He wanted to meet up for a drink." She shook her head. "He doesn't give up. It took two weeks of him badgering me before I agreed to one date. He swore that we'd keep it casual, emotion-free. I don't know if I believed him, but..." She sighed. "I _am_ sorry, you know. I should have realised it was a bad idea. He was too sweet to stay unattached. I...I broke up with him when I realised that he had feelings for me. I thought it was better to do it sooner."

Blaine gaped at her before his mouth caught up with his brain. "No! I mean... you don't need to apologise, I do. I thought..." He'd thought the lowest of his friends, and assumed the worst of the people he claimed to respect. "...I don't know what I thought. I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

She nodded silently. "It's just...the thing that hurt wasn't that you were angry with me. It's that you could think so little of me. Is that how you see me? Do you honestly not know by now that I have...what? Morals? A conscience?"

Blaine couldn't find the words. "I...don't know. I don't think that, I swear." He saw her eyes, wide with hurt, watching him. He took a deep breath. "What I thought...what I said...that reflects on me, not on you. I should never have thought that of you, and I know in my heart that you wouldn't...that you would never be cruel or malicious. I know that. I get blinded when I'm angry, and I say things I don't mean."

She considered what he'd said. "I understand. Hell, I can't talk, I did the same. I need to apologise to you. What I said about you and Kurt..."

"It's forgotten." Right now it was such a relief to not have to be hostile, he would have forgiven her without a word.

"No, it's not just that. I should never have said those things, I was jealous, I guess. Not that that's an excuse, but...I had no idea what I was feeling myself, and there you were, radiating love and contentment. I wanted that, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." She hesitated. "I was wrong about him. He makes you happy, and I can't ask for more than that. You're practically bursting with joy these days, it's actually quite sickening to watch." She smiled wryly. "If I didn't know better, I'd say somebody was getting laid..."

"'Cedes!" Blaine blushed and she laughed. It was good to hear again.

"Come on, I want to know."

"Well..." he smiled coyly. "On Friday night, I was upset because of..." She waved her hand and he gratefully skirted over the words. "...and then I had an argument with him, too, but we talked and he said..." He looked up shyly to see Mercedes watching him, biting her lip to keep from grinning. "...he said he loved me." She squealed, and Blaine had to laugh at the contrast between half an hour ago and now. "I said I loved him, too, I said it first actually. And then we skipped the afternoon and went back to his, and had a romantic dinner, and then we..."

He found himself enveloped in a tight hug that smelt faintly of perfume. When she pulled back she was bouncing up and down. "Oh god, that's so _romantic_..."

He grinned shyly. "Yeah it was." He watched her expression: equal parts indulgence, excitement on his behalf and optimism. It's easier to be happier for your friends when you have a reason to be happy yourself.

"Anyway, I spoke to David yesterday, and he said something..." he hesitated in case he'd got it wrong, but Mercedes was still smiling. "You're going to make it official?"

"Yeah." She sounded quite surprised with herself. "He's...he's something special. I never thought I'd say this, but I can see a future with him. Not a rest-of-our-lives future necessarily, but for now I think it'll be...good."

"Good?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

She grinned. "Good. I never saw the point in having relationships just for the sake of having a boyfriend or whatever. I'm not willing to put that much effort into someone that isn't worth it. David...he's worth it."

Her eyes lit up when she talked about him. Blaine noticed that and wondered at it. It was the way his eyes lit up when he talked about Kurt. The way Wes' eyes lit up when he was with Emma, and the way Kurt's lit up when Blaine walked into the room, and equally when he talked about something he cared about; about equality and Manolo Blahniks, about the children at the shelter and the new season Gucci. It was the look of someone who loves something enough to be content, for now. Perhaps forever.

They lapsed into comfortable silence. They were sat on the floor, backs against the shelves and hands clasped between them. He saw Mercedes glance over at him. "So...friends?" She asked with a half-smile.

"Friends." It felt like a weight had lifted from his chest.

* * *

When Blaine got back to the office Kurt was at his computer, glasses pushed high up his nose. He looked up when Blaine came in, a sheepish smile on his face.

"Hi."

Blaine ignored him. He strode over to the desk, his face impassive. "You arranged all of this?"

Kurt cleared his throat nervously. "Um. Yeah."

"Without telling me?" Blaine was speaking quietly, his tone flat.

Kurt nodded, biting his lip.

"You manipulated both of us." Kurt was silent. "You forced us into a situation neither of us wanted to be in, with the aim of making us argue."

"Talk," Kurt cut in. "I thought...talk."

Blaine nodded in acknowledgment. "But you did all this, knowing I might be pissed off, because it would help me."

"I...I guess. Yes." Kurt's eyes were suspiciously damp. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. You were so miserable without her, I just wanted you to be happy."

Blaine sat down heavily, a small smile appearing on his lips. "God, I love you so much."

"You're not angry with me?"

"How could I be? You did what you thought was best, and it worked. I..." He broke off, searching for words. "I can't believe you did that for me."

Kurt slipped his hand into Blaine's lying on the table. "I would do anything for you."

He spoke seriously, looking into Blaine's eyes and staying there, trying to communicate more than the sentiment in the words. Trying to communicate everything. Only his hands gave away his nervousness. The palm gripping Blaine's was sweaty. He could have said the words with a laugh in his voice, a smile to keep things light. Insincere. Kurt had never laid himself open to anyone before, and it took everything he had not to shy away.

Blaine laid his other hand over where theirs were joined. "Me too. I mean, I would do anything, too. For you." His ability to speak coherently seemed to have deserted him, so he went back to the words that always worked. "I love you."

"How did it go?" Kurt asked.

Blaine sighed. "We talked – a _lot_ – and we understand each other now. I was wrong about some stuff, too. Quite a lot of stuff, in fact. She likes him."

"As in, _like_ likes him?"

"Apparently so, which from Mercedes is practically a declaration of undying love."

Kurt looked bemused. "That was unexpected."

"Yeah. Apparently they're back together and making it official. And we thought pigs would never fly."

Kurt laughed. "I guess so." He looked at Blaine, watching the emotions play across his face. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Blaine looked up wearily. "Not really. I'm kinda talked out, and...it's behind us now. I'd rather forget about it."

"Ok." Kurt leaned across the desk and kissed him softly. "Do you want to do something else? It's nearly 6 and I don't have anything urgent to do."

"Mm, more of those for a start," Blaine said, leaning forward and sealing their lips together again. It took longer for them to separate this time, and when they did Kurt was pink and out of breath.

"Yeah, I like that idea."

Blaine grinned and stood up.

"Wha...where are you going?" Kurt was painfully close to whining.

Blaine just smiled wider and walked round the desk, settling back on it in front of Kurt and resting his hands on the arms of Kurt's chair. "I thought this might work better."

Kurt grinned and leaned forward again, quickly getting distracted by Blaine's lips hot against his own. Blaine pressed forward eagerly, barely noticing what he was doing until he realised he was practically straddling Kurt in his chair. He broke away from the kiss. "Oops," he said sheepishly.

Kurt smirked and grabbed something off the desk. He tapped a button on the phone and held it to his ear, still watching Blaine and smiling seductively. Blaine started to lean back onto the desk, but Kurt grabbed his arm before he could move.

"Santana? Don't let anyone into the office, even if it's urgent. I'm...busy." Blaine's smile widened as he listened. "Listen, if anybody comes near this room in the next twenty...no, thirty minutes, I will personally shave your head and donate it to African orphans. You got that? And San, that includes you."

He slammed the phone down and smiled sweetly up at Blaine. "Where were we?"

Blaine crashed their mouths together again, trying to move back onto the chair. It was big but it wasn't big enough for two, but that only meant he was pressed closer against Kurt, so he wasn't complaining. They'd done this enough now that it was familiar. Their lips moved with practised ease, hot and wet and slow. Blaine slipped a hand under Kurt's jaw, and Kurt eagerly angled upwards to kiss him deeper, longer. It was intoxicating, this complete obliteration of thought as they moved together, completely on instinct. He felt Kurt's tongue lick into his mouth, tasting him, trying to be closer than they could in separate bodies. Tongues and lips moved as one, interspersed with Kurt's breathy moans and Blaine's too-loud breaths.

Blaine sucked slowly on Kurt's bottom lip then bit it softly. He heard Kurt groan beneath him and his hips jerked instinctively. Kurt bucked up to meet him and he could feel his hardness through both of their pants. It took a few stuttering thrusts for them to find a rhythm and then they were moving against one another, each roll of the hips sending sparks of pleasure flying through him. His fingers scrabbled on Kurt's back, trying to find something to hold onto. Blaine shut his eyes, concentrating on the feel of Kurt's lips hot and eager under his, the shock that passed through him every time their bodies met. He could hear Kurt pant every time their lips parted for a second, feel his body shiver under him.

Blaine opened his eyes to watch Kurt. He had his eyes squeezed shut, head flung back and his lips swollen and parted. A flush crept up his cheeks, and his hair was messy. He tried to retain enough brain power to capture the image, the sight of Kurt falling apart. Kurt's hands moved across his back and settled hooked under his arms to hold his shoulders, pulling him closer with every thrust. Blaine pushed down harder and was rewarded with a long, drawn out moan.

"_Blaine_, keep going..."

He captured Kurt's mouth again, kissing messily this time, biting and licking and mashing their mouths together.

"Look...at me," he panted. Kurt's eyes shot open and their gazes met, piercing blue and intense brown, and they held contact until Blaine felt the familiar heat coiling in his stomach. He buried his face in Kurt's shoulder, biting down on the cotton of his shirt, and rolled his hips once, twice more, and came with a shout and an explosion of white stars with the feeling of Kurt's fingers digging into his shoulder blades. He felt Kurt's body tremor beneath him and then eventually relax.

It took him a few seconds to open his eyes and a few more to lean back. Kurt was watching him with a dazed expression. He grabbed Blaine's face in both hands and pressed a hard kiss to his lips.

"_That_ was amazing."

Blaine grinned breathlessly. "I...wow."

"Wow indeed," Kurt replied.

Blaine took a minute to get his breath back, his fingers rubbing circles into Kurt's biceps. He was collapsed on top of Kurt, _in Kurt's office_, they both had stains on their pants and they'd as good as told Santana that they were having sex. How did they get into these situations?

He didn't release he was laughing quietly until Kurt asked him what was funny with a smile. He got a strange look when he explained but then they were both laughing, sprawled together in the chair.

"I can't believe you're thinking about Santana after that," Kurt said, trying to keep the grumpy expression on his face.

Blaine kissed away his pout. "Mmm, I was thinking about you a lot more. About how beautiful you are..." _Kiss_ "...and how adorable..." _Kiss_ "...and sexy..." _Kiss_ "...and how much I love you." _Lots of kisses._

Kurt came away smiling. "That's what I was going to say."

"You could say it too."

Kurt grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in for a long, searching kiss. He pulled away and rested their foreheads together. "I love _you_."

Blaine leant in and then howled with pain.

"Oh god, what is it?" Kurt asked worriedly. "Are you ok? Have you pulled something?"

"No, it's just...ah...my legs have gone to sleep and...ooh...I have pins and needles..."

Kurt took one look at him and burst out laughing. "Come on, up you get."

Blaine unfolded his legs from underneath him, groaning and complaining the whole time. He staggered to his feet, holding onto the table for support.

Kurt bit his lip to stop laughing. "Well, that's one way to spoil a romantic moment."

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, and it was _so_ romantic, but my legs..."

Kurt got up stiffly and kissed him to shut him up. "I'm kidding. You just look hilarious right now."

Before Blaine could glare back too much, the sound of heels on wood appeared outside. Blaine barely had time to pray for anyone else before the door swung open and Santana sashayed into the room.

"Thirty minutes is up, boys!" She took in the scene: Kurt standing with one hand on Blaine's shoulder, who was bent over the desk with his face twisted in discomfort. "Jesus, Hummel, be careful next time! The hobbit looks like he's been pounded there and back again!"

Kurt glared at her. "Santana, _out!_"

"Fine, keep your pants on...oh," she smirked. "You did."

They were silent for a moment, then their eyes met and they were giggling again.

As they changed into the pants Kurt had sent up from Wardrobe – claiming he needed them for 'samples' – Blaine couldn't help but smile. 30 minutes was a good amount of time. Long enough to make amends with your friend, and long enough to have fully clothed sex with your boyfriend. And really – what more could you want?

* * *

**Please review!**


	16. Chapter 16

**I don't know what to say except for HUGE apologies for the wait. A combination of writers block and real life has had this chapter paralysed for weeks now. I can't promise for the future, but the next chapter will definitely be a much shorter wait.**

**On the other hand, things really get going after a few (ahem, lots of) fluffy chapters. I got distracted by the adorableness that is the good ship klaine, but...well, you'll see!**

**Warning: PG-13 for swearing**

**Disclaimer: Glee still isn't mine**

* * *

The first time, it was the sound of the door to the en-suite that woke Blaine up. He opened his eyes blearily to see Kurt coming through the door. He noticed that Blaine was awake and padded back over to the bed, slipping under the covers.

"Go back to sleep, love."

Blaine shut his eyes obediently, feeling an arm slip around his waist and the Kurt's chest pressed against his back. Kurt's breath warmed the back of his neck, and he was asleep within seconds.

The second time was when he rolled over in his sleep, arm reaching out and finding cool sheets next to him. The room was empty, but he could hear the gurgle of the coffee maker from the kitchen. The drapes were half-open and light flooded the room.

The first time he'd ever been into Kurt's bedroom, he'd been too busy attaching himself to Kurt's lips to notice the décor. When he'd woken up the next morning, he'd barely seen the room through a haze of embarrassed blushes and awkward smiles. The next time (or, at least, the morning after the next time) he'd had a chance to look around. It looked almost like a very expensive hotel, if not for the little touches of Kurt that lay scattered around. It was furnished in cream fabrics and dark woods, and dominated by a huge bed. The bedside table held a beaten copper bowl filled with stuff- the sort of stuff that made Kurt smile despite himself, a toy car on a keychain and the note that had come with the first flowers Blaine had given him – and a tall, cast iron candelabra stood in one corner. There was a bottle of women's perfume standing on the dresser, and once, when Blaine asked him why he had it, he answered "to remember" with a sad smile. A wing-backed armchair had unwittingly become a clotheshorse, piled with Blaine's clothes seeing as Kurt made sure to put his own away properly. The pile of clothes had grown significantly in the last couple of weeks as he started to spend more nights with Kurt. Wes complained that he'd hardly seen Blaine at the weekend, but then Blaine had reminded him of what he'd nearly walked in on before and Wes blanched and agreed that maybe it was for the best after all.

Blaine dressed quickly and ventured into the kitchen. Kurt stood by the toaster with his back to him, humming something under his breath and shaking his hips in time. He squeaked when Blaine stole up behind him and held him close.

"Blaine! You scared me!"

"Mm, good morning to you too." He leaned round to flick his tongue against the pulse point on Kurt's neck, enjoying the shudder that ran through him at the touch.

"Stop that!"

"Why? You don't want me to."

"There's no time, we have to get to work…"

Kurt was wearing a wide-necked sweater and Blaine took full advantage, laying an open-mouthed kiss on his shoulder blade.

"No, we can't! It's already 8, and I have to be in by half- Blaine!"

Blaine looked up from where he'd bitten down on Kurt's shoulder. "Call in sick."

Kurt turned to face him, smiling amusedly. "We can't both call in sick."

"I know the boss, and I'm sure he can be…persuaded…" He leaned forward to press his lips against Kurt's at the last word, satisfied when Kurt's eyes seemed to turn a shade darker.

"Someone would notice…"

"No they wouldn't."

"Santana would!"

"So?"

"Blaine, we have to go to work." He laughed and kissed away Blaine's pout. "Come on, coffee's ready. And you can't wear that," he said, eyeing Blaine's outfit.

"Why not?"

"It's the same shirt as yesterday! You can't turn up to work with me, wearing the yesterday's crumpled clothes!"

"I haven't got anything else!"

Kurt sighed. "Fine, you can get something out of my closet. It won't fit perfectly but it should be ok. But don't you dare touch anything else!"

Walking into Kurt's closet was like walking into a different universe. It was a universe full of glass and steel, and lighting that hid every shadow. There were rows of hangers, piles of sweaters and shirts and a huge rack of shoes that took up the entirety of one wall. It took him 5 minutes just to find a plain shirt. He eventually emerged and gratefully accepted a cup of coffee before they left for work.

* * *

Blaine was spinning on his chair. His workload had remained suspiciously light ever since he and Kurt had…what was the word for it? Kissed? Got together? Made love in the most beautiful, 18th century sense of the word? He was suspicious seeing as it gave him a lot more time to hang around in Kurt's office. He was hardly complaining, though.

Either way, it left him free to drink endless cups of coffee, watch Santana bitch at the overly-earnest Irish intern who was doing most of his work and yes, spend a large part of his day spinning around in circles on his chair. Santana only rolled her eyes at him, provided he pretended to be busy whenever anyone walked past.

The rush of preparation for the latest issue had just about died down for everyone apart from Kurt himself. Blaine had got used to him jumping out of bed in the middle of the night to scribble down another idea. He'd jokingly asked for a pay rise after he realised that most of Kurt's ideas came after they'd had sex – after all, he was contributing to the magazine more than anyone would ever know.

Blaine stopped spinning abruptly as someone walked past clutching a pile of folders. The world carried on turning and he gripped the edge of his desk, smiling queasily at the young woman. She made to knock on Kurt's door, shooting Blaine an odd look as she did, but then stopped when she heard Kurt's voice from behind the door.

He was on the phone, and it must have been with someone high up in the company as he wasn't bitching them out. The lower echelons of fashion's finest never escaped his wrath. The note of irritation still coloured his tone, however, and the woman seemed to wrestle with indecision for a second, then quickly put the files down on Blaine's desk and shot out of the door.

"_Yes_, of course I understand…no, that's not what I…I just thought that…we need something…no…no, it's not that…if I could just have a chance to…yes…ok…yes, that's clear…yes, sir…goodbye."

There was the sound of the phone crashing into the receiver and moments silence, then the sound of something shattering against the wall.

Blaine rushed in to find Kurt standing in the middle of the room, jaw clenched and hands in fists. Spots of colour danced across his cheekbones, and his hair had been knocked out of its style. He looked furious.

_He looked __sexy__._

He saw Blaine enter the room, and the upright position lasted only a moment before he slumped and half-fell into Blaine's arms. He gently set him down on the chair and leant against the desk in front of him, giving Kurt a look that demanded explanation.

Kurt looked away. "I'm fine."

"Kurt."

"I said I'm _fine_."

"_Kurt_."

He sighed and looked back, a smile creeping onto his lips as he met Blaine's frustrated gaze. "I'm ok, really. It's just some of the directors …" He scowled into thin air. "They know nothing about women. The only _contact_ they have with women are their trophy wives and secretaries they have affairs with. They're stuck in the dark ages. They can't bear the thought of empowering women, because that would mean losing control of them."

His voice was rising, and Blaine could only listen in awe.

"They want to keep on telling women what they should look like, how they should act, how they should please _men_. And women put up with it, because that's the way it's always been! They can't bear for me to talk about strong, powerful, influential women, just in case people start getting ideas! Women are scientists, writers, engineers. They played a huge part in the arab spring, and last year three women won the nobel peace prize, and yet they want – in a _women's_ magazine – to ignore all that, and present another interview with an actress who just wants to sit around prettily and talk about her new film!"

Blaine spoke quietly. "You really care about this, don't you?"

Kurt shrugged a little but nodded. "If it wasn't for the women in my life, I wouldn't be where I am today. I wouldn't be the same _person_ I am today. I love my dad and he's the best dad in the world, but my…my mom was the first person to ever accept me, completely unconditionally, for who I am. Even though I can't remember her well, I know that she loved more than anything, even when I asked for a pair of sensible heels for my birthday. I remember that feeling…the feeling that everything about me was _normal_. You don't notice it until it's gone."

Blaine gently took his hand, and Kurt nodded at the silent solidarity.

"It wasn't just her, though. In high school it took a long time for the boys to get over themselves and help me, _talk_ to me even, but I had friends who I could always rely on. They loved me, even though I was a little bitch." He smiled at the memory. "If it wasn't for them, high school would have been much harder. They were _strong_, strong enough to go against the tide and be themselves. I told you I was in show choir, didn't I? Well we were the lowest of the low. We were bullied the whole time we were there. We were friends, though, and somehow that made it all ok. The boys all stepped up after a while and we're close now – although at the time I can't say I ever thought one of them would end up as my live-in pretend boyfriend."

Kurt pulled a face and Blaine couldn't help but laugh. Sam was an unspoken subject between them; Blaine hadn't quite built up the courage to bring it up. He and Kurt were together, that much had been _very_ firmly established, but the entire fashion world thought that Kurt was in love with someone else and Kurt had done nothing to disenchant them. He _knew_ that it shouldn't be an issue, he _knew_ that the opinion of strangers shouldn't matter when he had something as precious as he did. But he couldn't help but think, when he shut his eyes and found the image of Kurt stood with his arm round a tall, muscled, blond man branded on his eyelids, that Sam looked a lot more like the guy Kurt was supposed to be with than a short guy with a cardigan and untameable curly hair.

It was all ridiculous, of course. Sam had been visiting Quinn for the last two weeks, and he'd had enough complaints from Kurt about 3 hour phone calls to know that the two were still madly in love. Still…it rankled.

"The girls were what made the difference, though. They're the ones that kept me going."

Kurt didn't need encouragement now; he was swamped in a wave of nostalgia, happy to talk about the people he loved. If Blaine was ever fooled by his hard exterior, he'd never be able to forget how Kurt was when he was like this: misty-eyed, half-smiling and glowing content in the feeling of being loved in return.

"And then there's Santana. God knows I'll never admit it to her face, but she pushed, dragged and threatened me into fashion and up the ranks of journalism. Without her I'd be yet another out of work singer, working as a Flying Monkey when I want to be Elphaba."

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Never tell her that – she'd be gloating over it for weeks."

"Too right I would."

The voice came from the doorway, where Santana stood leaning nonchalantly against the frame, smirking. Dressed in a tight black dress, terrifyingly sharp ankle boots and a smirk, she looked a bit like a cat that's just spotted something small, furry and defenceless.

Kurt groaned. "You're going to use this against me, aren't you?"

She walked into the office and hopped onto the desk beside Kurt. "I don't know what you mean, Kurty."

"Don't call me…"

She pouted. "Come on, Kurty, now's not the time to argue. Now's the time for you to get all riled up again, because that was hot even to the power-lesbian over here, and then you're going to get your cute little ass up to head office and _make_ them use your idea."

"Wait, you were there the whole time?" Blaine asked.

She grinned, swinging her legs under the desk. "It's not my fault you two were so absorbed in eye-schmoozing one another that you didn't notice me." She put on a high pitched voice. _"Women are wonderful, and are occasionally interested in more than shoes! Yay! Go feminism and shit!"_

Kurt scowled at her. "I don't sound like that."

"Yes you do."

"Don't."

"You keep on believing that, honey."

Blaine interrupted quickly. He'd seen them bicker enough times to know that it didn't end prettily. "Most people would have said something, you know, not spied on us for 10 minutes."

Santana just rolled her eyes. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, prep boy. For a start I'm not _most people_. Anyway, I was waiting to see if he'd say something nice about me." She flashed Kurt a triumphant smile.

"It doesn't mean I like you," he muttered grumpily.

"You _love_ me."

"No I don't."

Yes you do!"

"Don't!"

"Hey!" Blaine yelled, and they both shut up. "Santana, what are you trying to say?"

She leaned back, resting her hands on the table and looking completely at ease. "I'm _saying_ that Kurt here needs to stop whinging about the big bad men upstairs and actually _do_ something about it."

Kurt huffed with frustration. "Oh, really? And what exactly do you suggest? If you'd been listening you'd know that I _did_ try, and they vetoed it. They said that it would be 'inconsistent with the message of the publication'." He spat out the words. "Inconsistent with their prehistoric view of the social order, perhaps."

Santana grabbed his hands. "There's the Kurt I know and fear! Come on, you know what they're doing. They're _men_, they're so occupied by their own narrow-mindedness and pathetic excuses for genitalia that they're threatened by successful women."

"Hey!" Blaine protested.

"You boys are an exception. The point is that this is a _women's_ magazine, and you understand women better than we do ourselves. Don't deny it, sweet cheeks, you're freakishly perceptive. What's more, you're the most respected editor of any fashion magazine in the US, and don't let that go to your head, I'll only say it once. You have enough influence to get exactly want you want here. Fuck, you can make a huge difference! Once Vogue starts all the other magazines will have to do follow or get left behind, and society changes based on what people see in the media. You know that, Kurt!"

Her impassioned speech ended, and the silence rang in its absence. Kurt was staring at the floor, forehead furrowed in concentration and eyes flicking from side to side. One hand was curled around his other arm, fingers digging into the flesh. Blaine could see the tension in the muscles of his back.

Santana's words still echoed in his ears. He'd never seen her worked up about anything before. The façade had slipped now, and he watched her as she stared furiously at Kurt, fists clenched and eyes narrowed. She _cared_ about this, in a way that she cared about very few things.

Kurt cared about this, too. Not for his own sake, but for the sake of the people he loved, and for the sake of millions of people whose faces he would never see and whose names he would never know. It wouldn't be the biggest change in the world. It wouldn't save lives or stop a war, but it would be a monumental shift in the way women are treated in every part of life. It would be a statement of the like which, shockingly, has never been made on this scale before; that women are strong and intelligent and wonderful, and with a bit of luck they can do whatever they want. Business, politics, the laws surrounding maternity, even abortion and rape, could all be affected by this. By a decision made by a board of overweight, middle-aged, male executives sitting halfway up a skyscraper in Manhattan.

Yes, Kurt cared. Blaine knew what decision he would make, because it was the right thing to do. Blaine didn't think he'd ever loved him more.

"You really think I can do this?" Kurt asked.

"I'll push and drag and threaten you there myself."

They shared a look. Blaine felt completely isolated as they held eye contact, fierce blue eyes meeting passionate brown. He knew that they understood one another, and he saw the trust that stood between them. Together they were an unstoppable force.

He stood up and they turned to glance at him. For a second the man looking at him was Kurt Hummel, Editor-in-chief, but then the expression softened imperceptibly and he was looking at his boyfriend again.

"I'll field your calls for the rest of the day. There's nothing happening that can't be rearranged. I…" The words _so proud of you_ caught in his throat, and he couldn't say them. "I'll see you later. I love you."

Blaine left the room and shut the door quietly behind him. He couldn't contribute in there, but at least he could make sure they were undisturbed.

He heard Santana's voice raised on the phone a moment later. "Brit? Hi, hun…sorry, I'm going to have to cancel this evening…thanks, you know I wouldn't unless it was important… Ok, bye, love."

Her voice faded back into the murmur of discussion, and Blaine set to work moving around appointments and reshuffling meetings. He felt energised, despite his lack of sleep that had nothing to do with insomnia. Possibly for the first time since he'd come to Vogue, he was doing something that wasn't about art and design and beautiful things arranged in beautiful ways. This was going to make a difference.

* * *

The first time he woke up that night was when he felt the bed dip behind him and a solid warmth settle against his back. He drifted back into sleep to the sensation of lips pressed once against his neck and the sound of even breathing.

The second time came naturally. Kurt was still asleep, one arm and leg sprawled out under the sheets and the other arm loose around Blaine's waist. The position had become a habit over the last few days.

Blaine must have turned in the night because they were facing each other. Kurt's face was half-buried in his pillow, and he was drooling a little out of the side of his mouth. Blaine couldn't help but think he looked adorable. His eyes were shadowed, though, even in sleep. He'd still been holed up in the office with Santana when Blaine left at eleven. When he'd looked in to say goodbye, they were poring over sheets of paper covered in lists and webs of notes linked together.

He got up carefully to avoid waking Kurt and headed for the kitchen, switching on Kurt's coffee to brew. It was a ridiculously complicated machine, and he'd only managed to convince it to make drip coffee so far. At least half of the buttons were a mystery to him.

Kurt walked in, yawning, just as Blaine was about to go and wake him up. He looked tired but pleased and, Blaine realised, mouthwatering in a crumpled shirt and black briefs. He took the coffee Blaine poured for him and sat down, still smiling happily.

"So how did it go?"

"Good. We have enough ideas to get some really, really good stuff. We - well, Santana, anyway – decided that if we're going to change things, we may as well make a splash about it, so I'm pushing everything else back until the next issue. This one's going to be completely dedicated to great women. We'll have authors, foreign affairs journalists, actresses, charity workers, politicians…women from every walk of life who have made a difference in the world."

His eyes sparkled as he spoke and he was nearly vibrating with excitement.

"We have a plan about the board, too. It involves relying on the support of pretty much everyone I've ever worked with and what might tentatively be called blackmail, but I think it might just work. I have a meeting with them today anyway – I'll just have to change the agenda."

Blaine spent the morning in a whirlwind of anxiety as an hour passed, then two, and Kurt was still in the meeting. Santana migrated to his desk early on and they'd sat there in a terse silence, she making a chain of paperclips now twice her own height and he trying to distract himself with his inbox. It was a testament to how nervous they were that Santana hadn't insulted him once.

Three hours passed and the clock was inching towards the fourth when the door to the reception area swung open. Their heads whipped up, as they had every time the door opened all morning, but this time it was Kurt and he was positively beaming.

All he had to do is nod before Santana was wrapped around him and hugging him so hard he staggered backwards.

"Fuck! You…we…_fuck!"_ she muttered into his sweater, then gave up on words and squeezed him harder.

Blaine couldn't move, so he stood and smiled until his cheeks ached, and met Kurt's gaze. Emotions crashed around him, excitement and glee and so much fucking pride it hurt, but he stayed focused on those blue eyes and ignored them all, trying to convey everything through a look. Judging by Kurt's expression it worked.

Santana pulled away but kept her hand resting on Kurt's arm. She was still grinning fiercely, unreservedly, and her hair and clothes were rumpled. Blaine had never seen her look so beautiful. When she spoke, her voice was overflowing with excitement.

"All those women you were talking about yesterday, the ones who love you - they would be so proud of you, Kurt. Berry will probably explode when she sees the mock up for the next issue. Quinn'll love it too, she's all for the good of society nowadays." She tried to sound deriding but Blaine could hear the love in her voice. "And I am, too," she said quickly, as if speed would make it less embarrassing for her to show emotion. Then she hesitated, but continued softly. "Your mom would be proud to see who you've become. You've grown up pretty well."

She squeezed his hand and then turned on her tail and marched away, her eyes glinting with a suspicious brightness.

Blaine turned back to Kurt. He was fiddling with a loose thread on his cuff, fiercely refusing to look up. Eventually his fingers slipped and he swore quietly.

Blaine didn't know what to do. He knew that Kurt's mom had died, but Kurt had never brought it up. He thought of the little bottle of perfume on the dresser in Kurt's room. _To remember_. Some things are commemorated not in words, but in the scent of jasmine and a smile at an old memory.

The silence now was louder than the words had been.

Kurt spoke abruptly. "It was a road accident, when I was 7."

He didn't know what to say. What could he say? Only the traditional words, and hope that Kurt knew that he meant so much more. "I'm so sorry, Kurt."

"She…she would have liked you."

Blaine felt a comfortable warmth settle in his chest, and he smiled despite himself. "I'm glad."

Kurt nodded, smiling too, but tears gathered in the edges of his eyes.

"We don't have to talk about this if you don't want to…"

Kurt interrupted him. "No, I do want to talk. I have to tell you…everything. It's complicated."

Blaine felt confused, but took Kurt's hand anyway, lacing their fingers together in a way that was already heartbreakingly familiar. "Ok."

Kurt lifted his head and looked him square in the eyes, and the tears slipped, tracking slowly down his cheeks. "When I tell you…just remember that I love you, ok? Never forget that, even for a second. I love you so much that sometimes it terrifies me, because I know that I'd give up everything if you asked. I'd do it without hesitation. Promise me you'll remember that."

"Kurt, I…"

"_Please_."

"I will, of course I will, but…" _But what on earth was he going to say?_

Kurt took a deep breath, his eyes darting everywhere but at Blaine. Eventually he met his gaze, but the tears had been replaced by a pleading stare.

"I should have told you this a long time ago. My…my name isn't Kurt Hummel."

* * *

**I'm pretty confident that no one expected that! Hee hee, cliffhangers are fun :D**

**Please review!**


	17. Chapter 17

**The first half of this chapter was ridiculously difficult to write and the second half was so easy. I hope you enjoy both!**

**So, does anyone remember all that mystery hinting type stuff that I put in the first few chapters? No? Me neither. I'm afraid I got completely distracted writing fluff. Either waym here is the resolution to those clues! ****I literally have no idea how obvious I made the clues that I put in the story, so if anyone had any theories before now I would love to know.**

**Warning: PG-13 for...swearing? I swear all the time anyway. Sorry!**

**Disclaimer: Glee is still not mine, although I'm enjoying the new season!**

* * *

Blaine stared at him, the words echoing in his head. _My name isn't Kurt Hummel._

"I…" He couldn't think of a single word to follow that.

Kurt's eyes were screwed shut, his face pink from the effort of blocking out everything.

"I was christened Kurt Lewis. I didn't grow up in New Jersey, I'm from Ohio." He reeled off the facts quickly, tonelessly, and when he finally opened his eyes to meet Blaine's his expression was blank. "I moved to New York when I was 18, and I swore I'd never go back. I was starting NYU with Santana and I wanted a new start. I changed my last name and did my best to pretend that Kurt Lewis had never existed."

He broke off suddenly, and silence rushed in to fill the gap left. Kurt was staring rigidly at a spot to the left of Blaine's face, standing absolutely still. Blaine simply stood reeling, unable to process the words. Individually they made sense, but strung together they were a chain of meaningless syllables. Lewis? He didn't know a Kurt Lewis, and he didn't know the man in front of him, the man who stood motionless and stony-faced as he spouted these incomprehensible secrets.

"Why?"

It took him a moment to realise that it was him who asked, because the word seemed insignificant compared to the scale of Kurt's revelation. It was enough, though. Why would anyone want to escape their past so badly?

The question seemed to break through Kurt's countenance. It cracked, and the emotion broke through, playing across his face. Fear of something long gone but nevertheless around every corner; fear, too, that studied Blaine's expression to see at what point it would all be too much and he'd run screaming for the hills. Blaine could see it clearly, etched into the lines of his face made hard by tension. It was the face that he'd touched, kissed, and lain awake at night watching soften into dreamless sleep. Most of all he saw weariness, from spending too long running away.

"Why?" Kurt repeated back to him, and he sounded tired. "I don't know. Why does anyone want to forget? Because it was too difficult to remember, I guess. High School is hard for people like us, you know that, and in Ohio it's harder still. There's some cruel irony in there somewhere. For a long time I used to lay in bed at night, praying to God that it would get better. When he didn't answer, I stopped asking."

He finally met Blaine's gaze, and Blaine was surprised to see that his eyes were dry. He sounded like someone who'd understood his demons for a long time.

"I don't know why I thought God could help. I didn't even believe in him really, not after my mom died, and especially not after my dad's first heart attack. And then the bullying only got worse. My friends…I told you yesterday about my friends. They were wonderful, but sometimes it just wasn't enough. It got to the point where I didn't know how to carry on."

He took a deep breath and suddenly his eyes were fierce again, fiery in the way that Blaine had only seen a handful of times. When they'd made love for the first time. When Kurt had stood up for what he believed in. Once, when he'd seen Kurt watching him out of the corner of his eye, gazing at him with a burning intensity that made him shiver.

"The only options I could think of were to end it all or to leave and never come back. I chose the latter. Everyone knew I was going to college, of course, but the only people I told everything to were my dad and Santana. He…he hated it, but he knew that I was going to do it anyway, and San immediately packed her bags and said she was coming with me. I changed my name to Hummel in memory of my mom, because The Sound of Music was her favourite movie. We used to watch it together, and then she'd teach me all the songs and we'd dance around the house. It's one of the only memories I have of her."

He shook his head free from nostalgia.

"That's about it, I guess. I already told you that Sam lived with me because he couldn't afford his own place, and it's nice to have company anyways. He runs an online company so he can work from anywhere, so he spends half his time in Boston with Quinn and the other half in New York. They've been dating on and off since our high school days; they had it a lot easier than me. Being blonde and attractive does that." He smiled ruefully.

Blaine hadn't said a word throughout the speech, and when he opened his mouth he couldn't get anything out. Kurt had relaxed while he was talking, the stiff lines on his face gradually disappearing, but now he became uncomfortable again. The silence stretched on, and still Blaine couldn't formulate a response.

Kurt glanced away. "Well. I…don't really know what to say. I know I should have told you before, but…" He gesticulated, and his voice sped up as he spoke. "…I don't know. I didn't know how. I swear I wasn't trying to keep this from you, I just didn't know what to say and I didn't want to spoil something so _perfect_…"

"Kurt." The word came out so quietly that he couldn't be sure it had made a sound.

"…and I…I understand if this is too much. It's too fucking much for _me_ sometimes, but I had no right to drag you into this. I…"

"_Kurt_."

Kurt stopped, biting his lip. Blaine inhaled deeply, still unsure of what on earth the emotions coursing through him were.

Instead he reached out slowly until his fingertips brushed Kurt's cheek. He felt the hot skin under the points, the same skin he'd touched.

_Kissed. Loved._

It was Kurt Lewis's skin.

_A boy, still a child, thrust into a world that didn't understand him. Alone in every crowd, silent with every shout for attention. Frightened because people who were bigger and older than him, people who were listened to, watched him with hate-filled eyes and disgust written into their faces. Scared of their words and their shoves, but mostly scared of the hatred that burned so brightly. Surrounded by friends who could do nothing to shield him from the flame._

_Another boy, in a different school with the same people. Just as frightened, just as afraid. A boy who ran away._

It was Kurt Hummel.

_Fearless. Feared. Loved, by those who knew him. Respected by those who didn't._

He traced his fingers down Kurt's cheek, and looked into dry eyes that pleaded forgiveness.

It was Kurt.

_Someone in between. A man now, but still hiding, still scared. A man in armour who didn't dare venture out._

And yet the words were stuck, full of meaning inside his head but brittle outside, too easily knocked down. What can a man of words do when they eventually dry up?

He kissed him, softly, the way he had the first time, and he felt Kurt's lips under his. They weren't complicated by the identity that came with the surname. They were just…Kurt.

The words came back, stiltedly. They were still standing in the center of the empty room, speaking in quiet voices as if at a funeral. They both spoke carefully, choosing clumsy questions that danced around the emotions they were usual so good at vocalizing. Blaine felt completely drained, and he had to keep glancing at Kurt to check that he hadn't changed into another person. He couldn't help but think that it seemed unfair, the way that so much was different and yet he looked the same.

When Santana came back it was a stark reminder that they'd only been alone for about half an hour. She was completely bewildered by the awkward pauses that had crept into the conversation and the way that they still avoided eye contact.

"Aren't we supposed to be celebrating? What did I miss?"

"I told him, San," Kurt said quietly.

"Told him what?"

"All of it, really."

"Oh, you mean about your crazy plan to run away with me, change your identity and finally escape the evil bonds of Ohio-dom?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

She shrugged. "Good, it was about time. Now are we going to celebrate, or what?"

Blaine stared at her. "Is that it?"

She turned to face him, hands on hips and face set. "What do you want me to say? Listen, shorty, _this is not a big deal_. Kurt is still Kurt, you're still you, and if you want to have a hissy fit over this, don't drag me _or_ my boy into this. Understand?"

Blaine wanted to protest, but he wasn't sure what to say. Of course it was a big deal, for fuck's sake. It was a huge deal. He just couldn't quite work out why, because what had changed, really? What was there that he could be angry about?

He sighed. "Yes."

"Good. Now you two, _smile_ and get back to work. We're having a party at yours tonight, Kurt, and don't argue. You don't have a choice. Britt will come of course, Blondie will be there. You can invite Mini-Streisand if you _have _to, but I can't promise I won't cut her before the end of the night."

"She's got a date with Finn tonight," Kurt said, sounding dazed.

"Thank _fuck_, I thought that was gonna be difficult."

She took in their faces. Blaine still looked confused, hurt, awkward; Kurt was just stunned.

"Blaine, get your ass outside before I tear your balls off. Kurt, wake up and do something useful." She sauntered out of the room with that, leaving Kurt and Blaine still avoiding each other's eyes.

"She's just trying to protect me," Kurt said softly. "She's not good with relationship stuff. It makes her feel awkward, so she overcompensates by changing the subject and shouting at people."

Blaine snorted quietly. "I'd noticed."

Kurt gave him a weak smile. "I guess you'd better get back. I'm not sure she was joking about your balls."

"You're right. I'm quite fond of my balls."

"I am, too." It was a crap joke, but it was all Blaine needed to start laughing, and once he'd started he couldn't stop. Kurt laughed in response and reached out a hand to touch Blaine's arm, the way he had a thousand times before.

Blaine stiffened, but then relaxed. He reached out to touch Kurt's arm, too, just to feel him solid under his hands.

"I should go," he smiled, and it was a real smile again. "I…I love you, ok? Whatever happens. Whatever revelations you have under your belt."

Kurt's answering beam lit up his face.

"Only, if you have another identity hidden somewhere, can you tell me about it tomorrow? I don't think my heart can handle any more surprises today."

Kurt just leaned in for a long kiss, which Blaine accepted gratefully. Kurt drew back to leave just enough space between their lips to whisper "No more surprises."

Santana's voice came from the doorway, where she'd obviously been listening to the whole conversation. "Come _on!_"

Blaine left then, buoyed up by a smile and a warmth in his chest that made his confusion and anger dissipate. Because it didn't matter, really. He would love Kurt whatever.

* * *

They spent the rest of the day apart on Santana's orders. It was a strange experience – they were so used to spending time together, even if it just meant sitting in the same room. Blaine found himself glancing up every few minutes, and the same sinking feeling stayed with him when Kurt wasn't there. He kept replaying their conversation in his head and every time he got more frustrated with himself. The memory of Kurt's eyes when they'd talked, empty and emotionless, haunted him. He could see how scared Kurt had been of his reaction, and perhaps of something else. Because he could erase his past, but he couldn't erase someone's memories. How long would it be before someone from Kurt's town glanced in a magazine and recognized him? It was inevitable eventually. It suddenly dawned on him that when their relationship became public, a lot more press attention would be focused on Kurt.

Midway through the afternoon he brought Kurt a coffee, just to catch a glimpse of him. He was talking quietly to Santana, gesturing at an image in front of him. He looked tired, but when he saw Blaine he brightened up. Santana shooed him out again but Blaine felt reassured. Kurt was ok. They were going to be ok.

In fact, he thought as Kurt pressed him into the wall in the hallway outside his apartment, things were very, very ok indeed.

They'd walked into the building at the same time, completely coincidentally and certainly not at a secretly texted rendezvous time. Santana, in her infinite wisdom, had decided that they needed to spend a few hours apart, and neither of them dared defy her. She was very, very wrong though, Blaine thought as he felt Kurt's breath, quick and hot against his skin, and his eyes flutter shut as their lips touched.

They kissed for long minutes, standing pressed together against the wall next to the door. It had only been this morning that they were last like this, but it felt like ages. Maybe it was the realization of how close he'd come to, to put it bluntly, completely fucking up. Maybe it was just the things Kurt's hands were doing to his lower back that were driving rational thought from his mind. Either way, when Kurt pulled away all he could think about was the sparkle that was firmly back in Kurt's eyes, and the only thing he could do was grin madly.

Kurt bit his lip, smiling. "I thought I'd ruined everything. I thought I'd lost you."

Blaine shook his head emphatically. "No! God, no, never. I thought _you_ were going to go after I…you know. I was so stupid…" He trailed off.

"How about we agree that we both made mistakes?"

"Ok."

"But I made more."

"_Kurt…_"

Kurt just laughed. "Nope, I'm done arguing now. I never want to argue with you again, to be honest."

"I like the sound of that," Blaine smiled, and pulled him back into a kiss, that turned into another kiss, that ended with Kurt's shirt pulled out of his pants at the back and a hickey on his neck.

Kurt pulled away. "Santana will send out a search party if we don't go in soon."

Blaine groaned and leaned his head against Kurt's shoulder. "Why does Santana have more say in our relationship than we do?"

"Because we're scared of her."

"Fair point." He sighed dramatically and looked back up. "We could just stay out here a few more minutes…"

"Don't even think about it!"

Blaine jumped at the sound of Santana's voice, accidentally treading on Kurt's toe and banging his head against the wall in the process.

"Holy…how do you do that? Seriously, do you spend your whole time listening into our conversations?"

She smirked. "My techniques are a closely-guarded secret. By me."

Kurt looked at her with an expression that was half-admiration, half-fear. Blaine just scowled.

"Come on, dolphins! In we go!"

* * *

It turned out that when Santana said a party, what she actually meant was five people sitting in a room drinking the most expensive champagne Blaine had ever seen. She was sprawled on top of Brittany in an armchair made for one, and she spent the whole evening with one hand wrapped tightly in the Brit's. Perhaps it was the alcohol or just the company, but Blaine had never seen her so relaxed. She even forgot to insult him. He liked her like this.

He and Kurt were on the loveseat together, something which Santana had insisted on and neither man had complained about. They were only touching at the arm, but Blaine treasured the warmth that seemed to seep into his whole body at the contact. Kurt had only had two glasses of champagne so far but it was enough to make him slightly lightheaded, and he was giggling at everything being said.

Blaine couldn't enjoy the celebration. He was too busy sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye at the blond man sitting on the other couch, and at the same time trying not to seem like he was looking.

Sam.

He was…fuck it, why not admit it? He was tall, blond, muscly, and despite what Santana called his trouty lips he was an attractive man, objectively speaking. But only if you were being objective. For the first time in his life, Blaine Anderson was feeling the sting of jealousy.

He scowled into his glass. It would be easier to hate him if he was an ass, but so far he'd been as friendly as it was possible to be. He'd greeted Blaine enthusiastically, almost gushing about how much he'd been looking forward to meet him. Blaine glowered. Douche.

Blaine knew that it was ridiculous. Sam and Kurt weren't together, and they'd never actually been together. He loved Kurt, and Kurt loved him, and if this morning proved anything it was that they could make it through thick and thin together. It was just that…Sam seemed like everything Kurt's boyfriend _should_ be. Everything Blaine wasn't.

He didn't have a Napoleon complex, _honestly_ he didn't, but he could admit that he wasn't the tallest of guys. He also couldn't cook – although apparently Sam could, judging by the homemade pizzas that had appeared earlier – and his fashion sense left a lot to be desired. Sam was wearing Marc Jacobs.

He zoned back into the conversation when Kurt poked him in the side. "Earth to Blaine? Any signs of life?"

"What? Oh, yeah." He smiled sheepishly.

"Would you be an absolute darling and go grab another bottle from the kitchen?" Kurt smiled winningly, and Blaine melted a little inside.

"Sure," he smiled, and pecked Kurt on the lips before he got up. _Take that, Evans! Wait, Blaine, stop with the crazy. Just friends, just friends…_

He heard someone come into the room behind him and he assumed it was Kurt feeling guilty for being lazy. "Is it in the fridge?"

"I'm not sure."

Blaine turned and Sam stood behind him, hands stuffed in pockets and a slightly awkward smile on his face.

"Oh, I thought you were Kurt."

"No."

The silence had stretched to the point where it was awkward when Sam spoke again. "Um, I wanted to talk to you, but I don't really know where to start. I…do you want to sit down?"

Blaine took a seat at the island, looking everywhere but at Sam. "Listen, I'm sorry…"

Sam spoke at the same time. "I should apolo…"

They both broke off, and Blaine grinned wryly, perversely satisfied that Sam seemed to find this as embarrassing as he did. "You first."

Sam nodded and sat down across from him. "It's just…you don't seem completely comfortable around me, and I don't blame you. If the entire world thought that Quinn was in a relationship with someone else, I think I'd go crazy."

Blaine started to pay attention.

"Look…this is weird. I know this is weird. And I know that you're a good guy, Blaine, because you make Kurt happier than I've ever seen him. That's why I'm saying this. I…" He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up, and Blaine thought that it made him look a bit less…godlike. "Fuck, I'm no good at this. I usually leave the speeches to other people. Me and Kurt, we started living together because neither of us could afford not to, and we started this whole…" He gestured around. "…_thing_ because it saved him from a lot of stress, and because I care about him. He helped me out a lot in High School, and we got really close. _Platonically_ close," he laughed, seeing Blaine's expression change.

"That's the thing, man. I can tell you love Kurt, and it's normal to be jealous. I know you don't mean to be, too, which is…you know, good. And I know I'm kinda bursting in on your relationship right now, and I'm sorry about that."

Blaine started to protest. "No, you live here…"

"Yeah, but it's still got to be weird for you. And I also know that Kurt comes with so much fucking baggage it's unbelievable. But that's the thing, this baggage…it's difficult now, but all of that stuff is what's made him who he is. It's part of him, and sometimes it's the good parts. It's worth it."

"I know that," Blaine said softly.

"I know you do. But I'm gonna do my best to help you guys, ok? Believe me, I don't want to be in your way the whole time, especially because Kurt gets _really_ bitchy when he's pissed off."

Blaine couldn't help but laugh at that. "Yeah, I'd noticed that. He didn't speak to me for a whole day once because he asked what I thought about his outfit and I answered honestly."

Sam winced. "Dude, that's a _really_ bad idea…"

"It was bondage gear! He was going to wear bondage gear to _work!_"

"Hey, you should have seen the time in High School that he wore…well, let's just say it looked like an army tent to me."

Blaine's voice rose. He and Kurt had had some…_disagreements_…over clothing in the last few weeks, mainly about Blaine's inability to leave clothes in the correct section of the closet. "And he still criticizes what I wear!"

Sam tried to look hocked while holding back a laugh. "No!"

"Yes!" Blaine raised his eyebrows in mock-consternation. "He said I looked like a toddler dressed as a Charles Dickens character!"

Sam tilted his head, obviously trying to conjure up that mental image. "How would that even work?"

"Apparently it was something to do with the bowtie," Blaine grumbled. He'd passed fake-indignation and now he was actually feeling grumpy about it. "He said polka dot bow ties hadn't been in fashion for at least a century."

"But bow ties are cool!" Sam exclaimed in a passable English accent.

Blaine stopped. And stared. And decided that maybe Sam wasn't so bad after all.

Sam laughed at his expression and opened the fridge to pull out the bottle Blaine had been sent for. "Come on, we have plans to make."

"Er…we do?"

"'Course we do!" Sam grabbed a couple of glasses and sat back down, pouring champagne haphazardly into each until the counter was covered in bubbles and there was about a half inch of liquid in each glass. "Huh. That didn't really work out."

Blaine took his glass slowly. "What exactly are you planning here?"

Sam took a gulp of his drink, coughed, and put it down again. "I'm not planning it, _we_ are."

"I'm getting worried now."

"Come on, it's obvious. Everybody thinks that I'm dating Kurt, but I'm not. Nobody thinks that you're dating Kurt, but you are."

Blaine didn't reply for a second. It sounded so simple when it was put like that, but…no. "I can't do that to Kurt."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Jeez, do you really think I was planning to do this behind Kurt's back? He would scratch my eyes out. _Literally_."

Blaine wondered for a second if he should defend his boyfriend, but then he realized that Sam was probably telling the truth. "What do you mean, then? Why are we talking about it now?"

"Because Kurt needs a kick." He took a swig of his drink and made a face. "Ugh. Bubbles."

"_Sam_."

He sighed and took another swig. "Look, Kurt is the bravest person I know, ok? He'd have to be to do what he's done and get where he has. The whole false identity thing – that took guts. He knew when he did it that he'd never be able to go back, he'd never have a normal relationship with his family or with anyone else. But he did it anyway, because he would never have been properly alive if he'd let his past hold him down. _But_…he's comfortable, now. He's taken so many risks that he's scared the whole thing will come tumbling down on him."

Blaine nodded slowly. He'd had a few glasses of champagne now and the alcohol was starting to make the edges of his brain fuzz, but he'd never have been so honest if he hadn't been a little buzzed. Either way, he'd been thinking the same thing all day.

"It's kind of risky, isn't it? There must be hundreds of people who knew him…you know, before. What's the chance one of them is reading a magazine one day and they see him staring back with a new name?"

Sam shrugged. The laughter had gone from his eyes and he looked worried. "I know. I honestly don't know how it hasn't happened already. I guess I helped there because no one was speculating about his relationships, and he's always avoided the camera when he can. Most people would only find pictures of him if they were looking for them. Still…yeah, it's risky. Really risky."

"His childhood – his fake childhood, I mean. How come nobody's worked out that that's all fictional yet?"

"I guess nobody's looked too closely. We managed to put enough money in the right hands to make it look like Kurt went there, but if you looked any closer it wouldn't stand up. For a start, no one would remember him."

Blaine nodded blankly. It had been on the edge of his thoughts ever since he'd found out, but he'd been so busy feeling angry and hurt and stupid that he hadn't paid much attention to it. It all seemed far too spy-movie to ever work in real life.

"Do you think it will hold up? The story, the name…all of it?"

Sam sighed. He drained his glass and put it heavily back onto the counter, staring into it for a second before looking up at Blaine, his eyes full of regret. "I think it's only a matter of time before someone works it out."

Blaine didn't acknowledge him, staring into his own drink. He'd just come to terms with Kurt not being who he said he was, but it seemed like every time he peeled away another layer of armor he uncovered something dangerous. Why couldn't it be simple? He could have picked any guy. He could have picked that guy from the bar…what was his name? Andrew? It could have been anyone. But he'd gone for the most difficult of them all, a man weighed down with problems and secrets and fear.

But that man was _Kurt_, and that made him worth a thousand times more than anyone else. That was all that mattered.

Sam was still waiting for him to speak.

"Isn't this all the more reason for you not to 'break up' with Kurt? That will attract attention, and that's the last thing he needs."

"No!" Sam slammed a fist down onto the table. "You can't spend your entire lives running away from this! You can't let it rule you!" He took a deep breath and continued more quietly. "I have a wonderful, beautiful girlfriend and I'm incredibly lucky that she understands the situation. But I know what it's like not to be open about who you love, Blaine, even if my situation's a bit different to yours. I'm not saying all this because I want to get out, because if this was what was best for Kurt I would stay like this for the rest of my life."

Blaine watched his face crumple, until his voice came out as little more than a whisper.

"But it's not best for him, is it? He can't hide away forever, because he'll spend his whole life frightened of saying the wrong thing, or of having a photo taken at the wrong time. It'll be even worse for _you._ You have to do this at some point, and why not now?"

Blaine looked him in the eye and saw the pleading there. Everyone's happiness was at stake now. Kurt's, Sam's, Quinn's. His own. The inevitability of everything that had happened and was yet to happen flooded back to him and he felt carried away by a tide of another's making. There was nothing he could do but be carried along and hope that wherever it took him, Kurt would be there too.

He raised his eyebrows, shook his head in disbelief of what he was about to do, and nodded. "Ok then."

There were details to discuss, plans and dates and who the hell was going to say what and when. Sam marched back into the living room nearly an hour later, one arm slung around Blaine's shoulders and draining the last of the champagne from the bottle with the other.

"Right!" He announced loudly. "Kurt, I'm dumping you. Officially. We'll notify the press tomorrow, and then you and Blaine here can run away together and be adorable in peace. Got that?"

Kurt stared up at him, blinking slowly, then he shook his head in defeat. "Hell, why not? It's not as if I don't have enough on my plate at the moment."

Blaine smiled slowly, the alcohol seeping through his brains and turning his whole body into one mushy, happy, Kurt-centric lump. "Really?"

Kurt's exasperated smile turned into something much, much more genuine. "Of course."

Blaine was pretty sure he was being possessed because his legs were moving without permission, taking him across the room to Kurt and causing him to lean down and capture his lips in a long, drawn out, not-at-all fit-for-public-display kiss. He vaguely heard Santana wolf whistling in the background, and when he broke away Kurt's cheeks were flushed and he was grinning madly.

"We're really going to do this?"

Kurt rolled his eyes in response, but he couldn't quite wipe the grin from his face. "I guess we are."

* * *

Late that night they lay under the covers, feet tangled together and faces so close across the pillow that they breathed the same air. Blaine held Kurt's forearm loosely and he couldn't stop smiling. Kurt was blushing, equally embarrassed and pleased by the attention, but he maintained eye contact all the while.

Blaine could feel himself drifting into sleep, so he was surprised when the question fell out of his mouth in a whisper.

"Why Hummel?"

Kurt's nose wrinkled in confusion and Blaine barely resisted the urge to kiss it. "What do you mean?"

"Why did you pick Hummel as your new name?"

"Oh." Kurt wriggled closer until he was curled up against Blaine's chest and yawned. "My mom used to have this Hummel figurine that she hated." He burrowed his head into Blaine's body, trying to press them together more closely. "It was an antique, so she kept it in the back of the closet, and then one day she came home from work and I'd been playing with it. I'd been rifling through her bedroom and I found it so I decided to play mommy's and daddy's with it, but I managed to break its arm off."

He wriggled around again until he could see Blaine's face.

"I thought she was going to be really angry, but she just laughed and said she'd been looking for an excuse to get rid of it for years. My dad came home soon after, and my mom announced we were going to have a party because we'd finally got rid of the horrible thing. That's…I don't know. It was just a really good memory, you know? And when I was at my wits end trying to pick a name that didn't sound too boring, or too conspicuous, it just came to me."

Blaine nodded. Kurt's hair was sticking up at one side from where he'd been resting against Blaine's chest and Blaine smoothed it down now, feeling the strands run through his fingers.

"You're adorable, you know that?"

Kurt grinned and leaned down to kiss him. "I know."

They got distracted after that and the rising sun found them asleep again, sweat still cooling on pliant bodies, nestled around one another in blankets and tangled limbs.

* * *

**Please review!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Firstly: I can't apologise enough for the wait between these chapters. I started university in October and fandom has been the last thing on my mind in the last few months! I'm home for the break now though, so I'm trying to get started writing again. I don't think this chapter is a too bad attempt.  
**

**Secondly: I haven't watched The Break Up or any episode since! Call me petty, but I watch the show for Klaine, and I just don't have the patience to watch it when they're not together. I can't cope with the angst! I have a friend who has promised to let me know the minute they get back together (they have to!) and at that point I'll catch up!  
**

**Anyway, on with the story and I hope this is worth the wait!  
**

******Warning:** PG-13  


**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. If it did, this wouldn't be happening!  
**

* * *

They were eating dinner in Kurt's apartment when Kurt asked him. Blaine, who had previously been concentrating on not spilling bolognaise sauce down his white shirt, nearly choked on his spaghetti.

"Would you like to meet my dad?"

Blaine spluttered and Kurt had to run round the table to bang him on the back before he could breathe again. He looked up, purple-faced and gasping, to where Kurt was leaning over him and struggling not to laugh.

"Uh…what?"

"Breathe, Blaine. I just asked if you wanted to meet my dad." He laughed and sat back down.

Blaine took a gulp of water, feeling his cheeks burning. "I didn't know he was in New York."

"He's arriving next weekend."

"Oh."

"I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to. It's just I know he really wants to meet you, and…"

Blaine looked up. "You told him about me?"

Kurt grinned sheepishly and avoided his eyes. "He says I never shut up about you," he said quietly.

How could he say no to that? He'd heard enough about Kurt's dad to know that he was an incredible person. He knew that Kurt loved his family more than anything, and that Burt's opinion meant the world to him. He also knew that Burt loved his son fiercely and would do whatever he could to protect him. Quite frankly, at the thought of meeting the man who was both awe-inspiring and terrifying Blaine could feel his palms begin to sweat. This man was everything to Kurt. This felt more like a single opportunity to fuck everything up.

But on the other hand, Kurt was still watching him, biting his lip and vibrating with barely-concealed excitement. Blaine _knew_ it was the fancy mood lighting in the kitchen that made his skin glow and his eyes shine, but he looked radiant.

"I'd like to meet him too."

Kurt squeaked and bounced in his chair. "Really? Oh, _thank you_, I'm so glad!"

Blaine had to grin at that. Every day Kurt got a little more adorable, and every day Blaine fell a little more in love. "Is he staying here with you?"

Kurt's smile faded. "No," he said quietly. "He and my stepmom stay at a hotel just in case someone sees us. It's usually ok for them to come round in the day, as long as they don't have luggage or anything."

He was staring down at his plate, twirling his fork around a single piece of spaghetti. The excitement was gone, and Blaine immediately kicked himself for bringing it up. He slid a hand over Kurt's, trying to convey his support in that gesture. "Hey, it's ok. I'm sure they understand."

Kurt laid down his fork and eventually looked up to meet Blaine's eyes. "They do. It just feels so wrong not to acknowledge my own dad, you know? And Carole practically _is_ my mom, especially in the last few years."

Blaine squeezed his hand. He hated this, because there was nothing he could say to make it better. "Well, I would _love_ to meet them. What day do they arrive?"

"Saturday morning." Kurt's voice was still soft, but he was smiling again. "I'll meet them for dinner on Saturday, then they'll probably come over Sunday."

"So I could come out with you? On Saturday, I mean?"

Kurt beamed at him. "Of course. I should warn you, though – we have to dress casually."

Blaine laughed at the tone of Kurt's voice at that last word. "Why would that need a warning?"

"I'll show you," he said with a look of disgust. "But it's not pretty."

Blaine followed him into his bedroom, where he'd started rifling through the closet. The room was as pristine as always, the result of Kurt's three times a day panic tidying, but as he looked around Blaine suddenly realised that his own things had started to creep in. The jacket hanging on the back of the door, that was his, and so was the book on the table. His contact lens solution was on the dresser, and he knew that there were two toothbrushes in the en-suite. At some point the room had started to become his, too, and he hadn't even noticed. It was a fantastic thought.

Kurt emerged from the closet with a couple of pieces of fabric and practically threw them at Blaine. "_There_. They're awful, seriously. I feel so self-conscious when I'm wearing them."

Blaine had seen Kurt wearing leather pants and a bondage shirt. At three o'clock on a Sunday afternoon. He didn't know what could be worse than that.

"This is _plaid_. And…are those unfitted jeans? Kurt!" He dissolved into laughter, mainly at Kurt's expression.

Kurt scowled at him. "It's not _funny!_ They're itchy and shapeless and horrible!"

Blaine clutched at his side where it was starting to hurt. "God, love, you are the most ridiculous, _adorable_ man I've ever met."

Kurt snatched the clothes back. "Stop it! This isn't a laughing matter!"

"It really is!"

"_Stop!"_ Kurt whined. "You have to wear this too!"

Blaine wiped away a tear. He loved Kurt for everything about him, and that included the ridiculous parts. _Especially_ the ridiculous parts. "This is basically what I wear at home."

Kurt's eyes widened comically. "You _don't._"

"'Fraid I do," Blaine…there was no other word for it. He sniggered. "I'm inconspicuous all the time. I'll wear a hoody. And _sweatpants_."

He was just goading Kurt now, but the look of genuine shock on his face was worth it.

"At least wear jeans, come on…"

Blaine couldn't resist stepping closer and wrapping his arms around his protesting boyfriend. "You wouldn't be saying that if you'd seen me in sweatpants. My ass looks _really_ good."

There was silence for a moment while Kurt seemed to struggle with himself. "Maybe you could just wear them inside the apartment…"

Blaine grinned. "Nope. The whole point is to look inconspicuous, you just said so."

"But my _dad's_ gonna be there."

Blaine leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "You're just going to have to control yourself, then. Keep those hands off my ass."

He felt Kurt's hands creep down his back and squeeze.

"Not now, though."

Blaine grinned. "Not now."

* * *

On Saturday afternoon, Blaine was less confident. He paced around Kurt's living room, trying to keep himself occupied. I wasn't working.

"But what if they don't like me?"

He could hear Kurt's sigh coming from the bedroom. "For the sixth time, Blaine, they're going to love you."

"But what if they don't?"

"I've told my dad so much about you, I think he's incapable of disliking you."

"But…"

"Stop torturing yourself. You're polite, handsome and charming. Why wouldn't they like you?"

Blaine thought this over, chewing distractedly on his lip. "But he might think we're having sex."

There was a pause, then Kurt burst into laughter. "Honey, we _are_ having sex."

"Yes, but he doesn't need to know that! I knew we shouldn't have last night, but you looked so sexy in those boots and I couldn't stop myself, and what if he _knows?_ I bet it's written all over my face, and…"

Kurt was trying to speak through his giggles. "Blaine, we are consenting adults. It would be weird if we _weren't_ having sex."

"Yes, but…"

"No buts."

"But…"

"Blaine! He's my dad, he's not going to shoot you. They wouldn't have let him bring his gun on the plane."

And that was _so_ reassuring. "He has a gun?!" Blaine could hear his voice getting higher and higher. He had a feeling he was becoming hysterical. "He's going to hate me! He'll hate me and he won't let me see you and we'll have to break up and…mmph!"

Kurt had walked up behind him and cut him off with a kiss. Blaine relaxed, mainly to make sure he didn't bite Kurt's tongue trying to speak. Kurt broke away eventually, slightly pink in the face.

"Stop it. I love you and he's going to love you, ok? You should have heard him on the phone. He's been begging me to meet you for weeks." He kissed Blaine again, just in case he hadn't got the message the first time.

"Fine. But you promise not to break up with me?"

"I would never do that."

"Even if I completely fuck up today?"

Kurt smiled exasperatedly. "Even then."

He paused for a second. "He's really been begging you to meet me?"

Kurt rolled his eyes but nodded. "Yes, dummy, really. Now, how do I look?"

Blaine got a good look at him for the first time. Kurt had left out his usual hairspray so his hair hung loosely over his forehead. He was wearing a baggy shirt over a t shirt and levis that pooled around his sneakers. All in all, he looked…

"Weird. This is so weird." Blaine held him at arm's length for a better look. "You look so _ordinary._"

Kurt smirked. "Well that _is_ the point. You look pretty ordinary yourself, except…" He stepped around to admire Blaine's ass. "…yep, you were right about the sweatpants."

Blaine smiled feebly. "Ok, ok. Could I borrow a t shirt, though? I'm too hot in this."

"What would you do without me, eh?" Kurt asked, heading back into the bedroom.

"Masturbate a lot?"

"Blaine!" Kurt's indignant voice came from the next room. "I think I preferred it when you were insecure."

"Sorry." He caught the shirt that Kurt chucked him. "NYU?"

Kurt looked away, blushing. "It's probably the only thing I have that will fit you."

Blaine shrugged and pulled off his hoody, then noticed Kurt staring at him. "What?"

"Am I not allowed to admire the view?"

Blaine pulled the t shirt over his head. "Not when we're about to go and meet your family."

Kurt just grinned and grabbed his wallet and keys off the counter. "Come on, or we'll be late. And _relax_, for god's sake."

They made it to the diner with only one near-panic attack on Blaine's part. They were taking the subway, seeing as Kurt's car was more than a little conspicuous, and it was strange to see Kurt in the same environment as the commuters and students and crazy Jesus guy who kept trying to bless people. In his old clothes and unstyled hair, he almost fit in there. It was bizarre.

Outside the diner, Blaine had bigger things to worry about. He barely had time to turn to Kurt and whisper "I can't…" before Kurt was pushing him inside with a "yes, you can" and leading him over to a booth in the corner. A booth occupied by a middle aged woman with curly hair and a large man with a baseball cap and a blank expression. He looked like he could take Blaine single-handed.

But then he looked up and saw Kurt and his face split into a grin that shed years from his face. As soon as Kurt was within arm's length he pulled him into a bear hug.

"God, buddy, I've missed you."

Blaine could see Kurt's muscles tense, hugging him tighter, then he let go. "You too, Dad."

Burt let him pull away but he kept one hand resting on Kurt's arm, as if he'd disappear. "Are you well? You look a bit skinny, does he look skinny to you, Carole?"

The woman next to him shook her head, smiling amusedly. "He's fine, Burt."

"Anyway, it should be me telling you off for your health, dad," Kurt said with raised eyebrows. "Last month…"

"That was nothing," Burt interrupted him. "It was minor, it barely even put me out for a day. The doc said so too."

Kurt shot a look at Carole who nodded.

"Still…"

"Don't you worry. I'm still following that rabbit food diet you put me on, Carole makes sure of that. Seriously, kiddo. I'm fine."

Kurt looked doubtful but nodded anyway.

"As long as you _tell_ me if anything happens, ok?"

Burt looked at him seriously. "I wouldn't dream of keeping it from you."

Kurt sighed. "Fine, fine." He turned around and seemed to remember Blaine for the first time since he'd seen his dad.

"Guys, this is Blaine."

Shit. Blaine had been so busy worrying about the whole meeting that he hadn't really thought of what to say now. More to the point, the ability to form sentences had suddenly disappeared from his head.

"I, um, I'm pleased to meet you, Mr Lewis, Mrs Lewis."

Blaine was trying really, _really_ hard to smile through the nausea. Burt looked him up and down once, and then took his outstretched hand. "You too. Our boy here will hardly shut up about you."

Kurt blushed and looked away. "Dad…"

"What? It's true!"

Carole was muffling her giggles in her scarf.

Burt sat down heavily and slid along the bench next to Carole. "And call me Burt, kiddo. None of this Mr Lewis business. You're family now."

Blaine barely registered Kurt's hand tugging him onto the bench next to him. He was too busy grinning and trying not to get too carried away at the word 'family'.

Kurt had already started chattering away to his dad and so Blaine sat back in his seat, holding his hand and enjoying the warm glow that spread outwards through his chest.

It was strange seeing Kurt here. He and his father interacted in a way Blaine had never seen; they were both so busy trying to look out for the other that they ended up going in circles. When Kurt protested how many hours Burt was spending in the garage, Burt shot back a question about Kurt's workload. Blaine found himself watching them circle each other with a smile on his lips, and when he glanced across he saw Carole with the same expression. Their eyes met, and Blaine realised he'd never felt quite so awestruck as now, watching the Lewis men and try and out-compete each other in protectiveness.

"Hey, little bro."

The voice came from behind and above Blaine, and within seconds Kurt had leaped out of his seat and thrown his arms around the tall man grinning down at him.

"Finn, you lanky-"

"Woah, kiddo, don't knock him over-"

"Kurt, _Kurt_, I can't breathe-"

"Stop suffocating my boyfriend!"

This last exclamation came from a pint-sized brunette who was trying to prise Kurt's arms away from his brother.

"Kurt, come on, give me a hug!"

Kurt rolled his eyes but hugged her, laughing. "You never change, Rach."

Blaine suddenly realised why she looked familiar. "Rachel! From…" he caught Kurt's eye and quickly changed his choice of words. "…work, right?"

She turned around and looked at him with a critical eye. Blaine had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being inspected. Then she beamed. "I'm surprised you recognise me, my department can be a little insular. Of course, if I was able to contribute more to…"

With a sinking feeling, Blaine suddenly realised where he'd seen her before; in a staff meeting, weeks before, arguing that the lifestyle editors weren't including enough Broadway shows. Arguing, and arguing, and arguing. Burt and Carole were sharing a look, both with lips pursed together to hold in laughter.

"We've talked about this, Rachel," Kurt interrupted, in a weary voice tempered with fondness. "You work in marketing. You're very good at working in marketing. If you want to add anything you have go directly to that department."

Rachel sniffed haughtily, but she was hiding a smile. "Maybe if that harpy you keep around wasn't blocking my every move…"

Kurt opened his mouth to argue but she spun back round to face Blaine. It seemed being around Rachel was like being in the vicinity of a very compact tornado wearing high heels. Finn was watching her amusedly, obviously used to this.

"Well, Blaine, I hope you can persuade him to change his mind. It's very nice to meet you, by the way. You have excellent teeth."

"…thankyou?"

"Good oral hygiene is a promising sign in a man." She turned to Kurt and stated triumphantly "I approve."

"I'm so glad," Kurt said dryly, but he was still smiling. "And Blaine, this is my brother, Finn."

Blaine stood up to shake his hand, and realised that he had to look up to see Finn's face. And up. And further up.

"It's cool to see you, man." Then the dopy expression vanished off his face. "But, like, Kurt's my little brother, you know?"

"By two months…" Kurt interjected exasperatedly.

"And I look out for him, so if you mess him around…" Finn left the threat hanging, either because what he would do was too awful for words, or because he hadn't decided yet. Blaine wasn't sure which.

Carole was giving Burt a significant look, and he sighed and slid out of the booth to stand next to Finn.

"Come on son, enough with the tough talk." He clapped the younger man on the arm. "I haven't seen you in weeks, how's it been going?"

Blaine realised that that was the thing about Burt. It didn't matter if you were related or not; if he cared about you, you were family.

"Besides," Burt said, glancing round at Blaine and grinning so that his face became a sketchwork of laughter lines. "We can always threaten our boy here later."

They moved around him in a blur of chatter and laughter and reminiscence, fussing with coats and menus until eventually they'd all ordered. Kurt immediately started berating Finn on his choice of shirt, until Finn commented on Kurt's hoody and made him sulk. Blaine rubbed Kurt's leg under the table, and he got a weary smile in response.

"So, how's work?" Burt asked. "You getting enough sleep?"

Finn sniggered. "Not if Blaine has…"

"_Yes,_ dad," interrupted Kurt, blushing violently and glaring at him. Finn shrugged at him with a lopsided grin. "It's fine, everything's fine."

Rachel leaned over to join in. "It's more than fine! Kurt, tell your dad about the new issue!"

Burt settled back in his seat. "What's this?"

Kurt waved his fork. "Oh, it's not that big a deal," he said modestly. "I just wanted to do something special, so we're having a themed issue, a strong women sort of thing. Women who are role models."

Blaine could see Kurt tensing, waiting for his dad's response. He could downplay it as much as he liked but this work meant a lot to him, and he cared about his Burt's opinion above anyone else's.

"Not a big deal? Kiddo, that's great!" Burt was grinning from ear to ear.

Kurt breathed out and ducked his head, smiling. "Thanks dad. It seemed overdue."

Burt grabbed Kurt's hand and held it until he looked up. "Hey, Kurt, look at me," he said quietly. "Seriously. Your mom would have been so proud of you right now."

The words came out so quietly that only Burt and Blaine, sitting right next to them, heard. "I hope so."

The waitress arrived with their food at that moment and Kurt sprang back, avoiding her eye. They sat quietly for a few minutes while Rachel checked three times that her burger was definitely vegan. Blaine caught hold of Kurt's hand and squeezed it. It was the only way he could think of to express the warmth that spread through his stomach when he heard Kurt talk with his dad, the warmth that he'd come to associate with Kurt.

"That's about it, anyway," Kurt said sheepishly. He held his fork in one hand but the other was still locked with Blaine's.

"Well, I think it's brilliant!" Rachel interjected excitedly. "I've got this idea for a piece on Barbra Streisand…"

Kurt groaned, immediately back to his usual self. His usual, _bitchy_ self. "Rachel, this is about women _today_, who are at the top of their careers. Barbra hasn't been there for _decades_."

Rachel looked personally offended. "She's a cultural con! That sort of star never fades. You used to think so too!"

"I _do_ think so, but this isn't about you and me, and it's definitely not about Broadway."

Rachel sniffed and picked up her fork. "I just think that her career is an example of a _strong_ woman succeeding against the odds. Isn't that what this is all about?" She turned to her boyfriend. "Don't you agree?"

Finn looked nervous. "Um, I don't know, Rach…"

She snorted and turned back to her plate. Behind her back, Finn shrugged helplessly at Kurt, who bit back a smile and conceded. "Maybe you have a point, Rachel. If you can find a decent writer willing to do it I'll put it in, ok? Maybe throw in a few modern Broadway actresses alongside it to keep it up to date. We'll work on the details later."

Rachel squealed and tried to throw her arms around him. Unfortunately two plates, the menus and the water pitcher were in the way, but once Blaine had dammed the flow with serviettes and Kurt had stopped giving her death glares she was still beaming. "This is going to be perfect, you won't regret it!"

Kurt rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. Finn was looking relieved.

"Awesome! So Burt, how's Andy doing? You told me last week he hit his leg at the shop."

Burt accepted the less-than-subtle change of subject and launched into the story of his clumsy mechanic. Carole was listening with significantly more sympathy than Finn, who found the whole thing hilarious, and Rachel was practically bouncing in her seat, preoccupied with thoughts of the glitz and glamour of Broadway. Kurt asked a question occasionally while pushing his salad around his plate and occasionally wrinkling his nose at the thick, orange dressing that smothered it. Carole touched Rachel's arm gently to remind her to actually eat her vegan burger, and handed over her dressing-free tomatoes to Kurt, who shot her a grateful smile. Burt had caved under the pressure of Kurt's glare and ordered himself a grilled chicken sandwich and added cheese when Kurt was distracted, and he was avoiding Kurt's eye as he ate. Blaine knew it was stupid, but it still shocked him a little how much they looked like a family.

Once meals were finished, fingers licked clean (in Finn's case) and dessert optimistically ordered and then nearly all left over, Kurt excused himself to go the bathroom.

Burt waited until he'd gone and then got up stiffly. "Don't tell Kurt, but I'm not as young as I was. He'd like to think I'll be invincible forever. Come over here, kid."

They walked over to the window while the others fussed about, each trying to pay the check. Burt faced out, hands in pockets, watching the dark street through the glass. It had rained earlier, and the lights of the traffic reflected in the storefronts and the puddles on the concrete.

"I hated the idea of New York when Kurt came out here." Burt paused and shut his eyes for a second. The bright lights of the diner superimposed his reflection onto the dark street. "I thought for sure he was gonna get himself robbed or murdered, or he wouldn't get a job and he'd do something stupid to keep himself going on his own. He's proud, that kid, and sometimes he's stupid because of it."

He didn't look around at Blaine. His voice was rough from decades of use, but quiet.

"I was waiting for the call to say something bad had happened, but all I was getting was all this excitement 'cos he'd got an internship somewhere new, his boss had used one of his ideas, they were promoting him. And I just kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for _something_ to go wrong. I didn't really understand what he was going on about, I didn't know how big a deal it all was. I just knew my kid was special, and someone else had realised it too. He was happy. Eventually I stopped waiting for that phone call."

He let out a slow, heavy breath, and finally he turned to face Blaine. His face was expressionless.

"And then I got an email from him. Just the usual stuff, more successes. New York was made for him, or maybe he was made for New York. But then I saw the bit at the bottom, you know, with the company signature? Regards, Kurt Hummel. And I thought, who the hell is Kurt Hummel?"

He turned quickly back to the window. A cab drove past through a puddle, sending a spray of dirty water onto the sidewalk. A guy walking past flipped him off, and his friend laughed.

"I confronted him, and he told me everything. It hurt, yeah, but not because I thought he was ashamed of me. It was because my kid had moved ten hours across the country to be somewhere he belonged, somewhere he'd fit in, and he still had to pretend to be someone he wasn't." He sighed.

"It was ok at first. Nobody cared about some junior under-whatsit at a magazine. When he got the job at Elle people started wanting to know about him but it wasn't a big deal, just the occasional mention when he was at an event or something. That Santana, she's a terrifying woman, but she cared about Kurt and she looked after him. But then he starts at Vogue and people actually care. They want to solve the big mystery of Kurt Hummel, but they don't find anything and so it all calms down. I didn't know why until Carole got a magazine a few weeks later and saw a picture of him and that Sam kid, and it said they're living together. He called it deflection."

He shook his head slowly. "It felt wrong. This wasn't just brushing over the past, this was inventing something out of thin air. Hell, I might've been ok with it if it made life easier for him, but it didn't. He was stressed all the time. He was scared someone was gonna find out. He'd told so many lies, he couldn't go back anymore. It was making him sick."

Burt looked around. "And then he met you."

Blaine watched as the other man scanned his face. He looked…lost. Old.

"It's hard to admit that you can't help your kid anymore. He was drowning, and there was nothing I could do. And then suddenly he's more upbeat than I've heard him in months, and he keeps mentioning this new assistant he'd got. And then he stops mentioning the assistant at all, but he's got this smile in his voice when we talk and he refuses to tell me why."

Burt smiled softly and for the second time that evening, the age fell away.

"Now, I can draw my own conclusions from that. Kid…Blaine…" He seemed to be struggling for words. "I don't want to interfere, and I don't want to put too much pressure on you. It wouldn't be fair. But you're good for Kurt, really good, and I gotta thank you for that. For being there for him when I can't anymore. And I know the look you get in your eyes when you look at him. It's the same one I got with Kurt's mom, and now with Carole. That's why I know you won't mind me saying this. Look out for him, ok? Just don't let it be like it was before. Don't let him drown again."

There were things Blaine wanted to say, so many things, but his throat felt constricted and all he could do was nod stiffly. He knew Burt understood, because he clapped him on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, son. Just keep doing what you're doing. Keep on being happy." He turned around and raised his voice. "Come on guys, don't keep an old man waiting!"

Kurt came over. "You're not old, Dad, and I know you know it. You're always boasting that you're healthy as a horse."

"As _two_ horses, I'll have you know."

"Yeah, whatever."

Blaine was left staring at Burt's back as he helped Carole tuck in her scarf. She swatted at his hands and did it herself, but then gave him a quick kiss anyway. Rachel had her arm looped through Finn's and was staring up at him adoringly even while she kept on chattering away. He clearly wasn't listening to a word she was saying, but he nodded along anyway.

"You ready?"

He snapped out of his daze to see Kurt holding out a hand. He took it.

"Let's go."


	19. Chapter 19

**I don't know what to say. I'm truly, truly sorry that there's been such a huge gap between chapters and I'm so glad that you've decided to stick with this. However long the gaps between chapters, though, I will never abandon this story. We're nearing the end too! I'm currently estimating about 25 chapters, but this could change as I write them.**

**That aside, I hope you enjoy this chapter! We're tying up some loose ends and unraveling some new ones...**

**Rating: PG**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Glee**

* * *

Carole and Burt left, and life went back to usual. The new issue of Vogue met with all of the acclaim that Blaine had expected and Kurt had dared hope for, but it wasn't the rambling applause of a wave of fashion bloggers or the statements of support from women as diverse as Angelina Jolie and Ellen Degeneres that had given Blaine a near-permanent smile. It was the sentence or two in the editor's letter, picked up on by a few of the more astute gossip columnists but generally lost in the cacophony of debate surrounding the issue.

_Here we celebrate women. Strong women, brave women, incredible women. The women who fight for what they believe in and keep the human race driving ever onwards. _

_We cannot know what the future will hold. This month I separated from someone who I have loved dearly, and who will always be important to me. Our lives are full of twists and turns that we can never anticipate, but I 'm comforted by the knowledge that women like these are striving to shape the future of this country and of the world. The people between these pages manifest the best about human spirit, and I think they deserve more credit than we can ever give them._

_I want to honor half of the population of the world today. While sexism and misogyny still exist, the first thing to do is to remember that we're all worthy of admiration. The rich and the famous, the poor and the unknown, the women next door and the women you've never met. Mothers, daughters, sisters, friends. The first thing we should do is to remember that we're everywhere, and let's face it – we're pretty fantastic._

There were tears in Blaine's eyes when he'd finished reading. It was strange, seeing it in print – the words that quietly, unobtrusively, freed Kurt from one of the ties to his made-up life. The one that now left him free to be with Blaine.

Kurt was standing behind him, fidgeting anxiously as he reread his own words over Blaine's shoulder.

"Is it ok?" he asked tentatively. "I know I should have asked you about it first. I just thought that if I waited I'd lose the courage."

Blaine turned around to meet his bright eyes and anxious smile, and he couldn't stop himself from pulling Kurt towards him and lifting him into the air with the enthusiasm of his kiss.

Kurt broke away, pink in the face. "So it's alright?"

Blaine laughed out loud. "It's amazing, it's awesome! It's fucking incredible!"

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of lips on lips, before Kurt pulled back again. "SO it's not too corny?"

"No, no way!" Blaine exclaimed. Then he thought. "Well, it's a _little_ bit corny. But there's nothing wrong with that."

* * *

They didn't discuss a plan of action that day. There wasn't time, in between giving the entire staff half a day off and then fucking, noisily and messily and fantastically, over Kurt's desk.

They talked later that week, though, in the dark between cool sheets, the heat of their bodies trapped between them. Kurt shyly offered him the answer, and it seemed too good to be true. They'd go on a date. They would walk around holding hands, they'd flirt, maybe even kiss, and it wouldn't matter if someone noticed. In fact, they wanted someone to. After months of secrecy, it sounded far too simple.

If Kurt was hesitant, it seemed to only be because he was worried that Blaine wouldn't agree. It was a contrast to Kurt's nervousness over the past weeks, but when Blaine said that the other man grinned at him.

"My dad said something to me the other week. It made a lot of sense. Besides, I'm hardly going to turn down advice from the only Hummel man who's ever been any good at relationships, am I?"

Blaine entirely agreed, and the perfect opportunity for their coming out date (the irony was lost on neither of them) appeared in the form of Tina.

She was nearing her due date, so it was hardly surprising that she was eating more than usual. It was just that…well, Tina was normally a soup-and-roll sort of a girl. It wasn't that she worried about her weight, she just wasn't that hungry. Currently, Blaine's eyebrows were nearing sky-level as he watched her pile another chicken wing on top of the burrito, cheese sandwich and greek salad that she already had.

They sat down with Mercedes, clattering about with knives and forks as Blaine fussed over Tina and she swatted him away.

"For god's sake, Blaine, I'm fine! The baby's not going to pop out because I poured myself a glass of water."

"I'm just trying to…"

"It's very sweet of you, but I'm _fine_," she said, sweetly but firmly. "It's bad enough with Mike fussing at home. He's killing himself rehearsing 12 hours a day and then coming home and trying to do everything for me."

Mercedes shrugged. "Let him, it'll make him feel better. He's just worried about you."

"I know, but I'm fine. I went for a scan the other week and she said everything's normal. The baby's growing nicely and I'm healthy too."

"Ooh, have you found out the sex?" Blaine exclaimed.

"No, and I don't want to know!" Tina laughed. "I want it to be a surprise. Mike's agreed, even though I can tell he's dying to know."

"Do you have a preference?"

She shrugged, biting into her burrito. A dollop of meat fell out of the end and Mercedes watched hungrily, then took a bite of celery from her own plate. "I don't really mind. I want one of each, so I'm just going to keep having babies until I've got them."

Mercedes laughed. "Slow down, girl! You'll change your mind once you've gone through labour. Are you going for a natural delivery?"

Tina shuddered. "Not a chance. I'll be shouting for drugs within minutes."

Blaine thought about it, winced, and tried to erase it from his mind.

It wasn't often they all had lunch together anymore. Blaine ate with Kurt most days now and even when he didn't Mercedes was usually rushing around somewhere being important.

Tina worked her way, slowly but thoroughly, through the salad and three chicken wings. She finished by licking her fingers while Mercedes watched, practically drooling. She seemed to think for a second then stormed off and returned with two chocolate donuts, one of which she handed to Blaine.

"I'm a real woman, I have curves and I'm goddamn sexy. I'll eat carbs if I want to!"

He grinned through a mouthful of dense cake and powdered sugar and high fived her.

Tina giggled and shook her head. "You don't have to justify it!"

Blaine swallowed with difficulty – he seemed to have taken a bite significantly bigger than his mouth – and asked "So when does Mike's show start? It must be soon if he's rehearsing like that."

"Oh, I forgot! It's next week and I was going to ask you guys to the premiere! I'm sure the baby's affecting my memory. I've got you a couple of tickets each, and an invite to the after party."

Blaine took a second to register the words, then threw himself at Tina. "You're the best! Oh my god, I'm going to a premiere! I've never been to a premiere before!"

"Ouch, baby!"

Blaine jumped back immediately. "Shit, sorry, are you ok?"

"I'm fine, stop worrying! But don't, y'know, crush me to death or anything."

Mercedes gave her a less exuberant hug. "This is awesome!"

"Well it's hardly the coolest of events, but it would be nice to have you there."

"It's better than cool, it's _elegant_. We can pretend to be old money and hobnob with the rich and elite." Blaine could almost see diamonds shining in Mercedes' eyes as she spoke.

Tina laughed. "It probably won't be like that, either."

Blaine shrugged. "Yeah, but we know one of the dancers. Well, sort of. We know his wonderful wife."

"Of course," she grinned.

A thought struck him suddenly. "Did you say you'd got us two tickets each?"

Tina looked him in the eyes, grinning slightly. "I did, yes."

He didn't know whether he wanted to be annoyed at her or kiss her. "You know we're not…you know. Public."

She rolled her eyes in such an un-Tina-like fashion that he was taken aback. "Seriously, Blaine, I do read the magazine we all work for."

Mercedes' attention was piqued and she looked up. "What are you on about?"

Blaine stayed focused on Tina, who was beginning to look rather smug. "That doesn't mean he's ready for us to come out."

"Oh, come _on_. I worked for the man for two years, remember? He doesn't take risks unless he's certain. It was a risk, writing that. He's certain."

Blaine thought it over and over, but he knew that she was right. "You're frustratingly perceptive, you know that?"

"What risk?" Mercedes interrupted grumpily. "What did he write?"

"Do you even read Vogue?"

Mercedes sniffed haughtily. "Well…" she paused. "I normally skip the boring bits," she grudgingly admitted.

"Like the editor's letter?"

"Yeah, like that. Why?"

* * *

Kurt agreed, of course, and their plans were set until the day of the premiere. Blaine was shutting down his computer and pointedly ignoring the last few sheets of paper in his in-tray when Kurt shuffled out of his office, already looking contrite.

"Blaine, honey?"

That was a bad sign too. Their pet names extended to baby, darling and occasionally sweetheart, but never honey.

Blaine looked up from his screen. "Mm?"

"Look, I know how important today is and I'm really so, so sorry, but Maria from Chanel's office just called and she needs to meet right away."

Blaine shut his eyes, taking refuge in the darkness and breathing deeply.

_This is more important than the two of you. It doesn't have to be tonight, you can do this at any event. _

"Oh." He struggled to keep his voice level, eyes still squeezed shut until he realized how strange he looked and opened them quickly. "I, um, I understand. Work is more important. We can do this any time it's not even that important. I guess I'll let Santana know she doesn't need to be monitoring the press…"

"Blaine, no!" Kurt interrupted, his face shocked. "I didn't mean that! Did you think was going to miss the whole thing? I would never do that, love."

Ok, maybe he was open to new pet names after all.

Kurt closed the gap between them to take Blaine's hand, holding it tight in his own as Blaine got to his feet. "I know how important this is to you. It's important to me, too, and I would never jeopardize that. I'm just going to have to meet you before it starts."

Blaine looked up into Kurt's eyes. "We're still doing…this?"

He smiled and every ounce of doubt and stress fell away. "You try and stop me."

It took Blaine a few seconds to realize he was grinning back like a fool, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. In the end it was only wiped off his face by a soft kiss.

"I love you," Kurt murmured against his lips. "And I love being with you. I want the whole world to know that." He sighed. "As much as I'd love to stay here, I have to go and meet Maria."

Blaine nodded and drew away. "I know."

"I was going to ask if you could get a tux sent over for me? I'll probably have to get changed here and meet you at the theater."

"Sure. Which one do you want?"

"Pick me one out."

Blaine leaned back in surprise. "Really? You're going to let me choose your outfit?"

"You've worked at Vogue for 4 months, I trust you!" he exclaimed.

Blaine melted a little inside.

"Besides," Kurt added matter-of-factly. "If it's really awful, I'll tell everyone you picked it."

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Ever the pragmatist."

Kurt winked. "You love it." He turned to go back into his office. "I'll be there by 7, I promise!"

At 6.54pm Blaine stood chatting to Tina, leaning against the balcony railing. He'd never been to the Lincoln center before and from the moment the car had pulled up at one end of the square he'd been in awe. The vast foyer was crowded, the colors of dresses vibrant against monotone tuxedos. Mike was busy backstage so Tina had offered to show Blaine in. She was at home here, with a glass in her hand (sparkling grape juice that she'd made a face at), cradling her bump protectively as she soaked up the crowds. Blaine found himself contemplating what a wonderful mother she'd make. He'd always been set against the idea of the stay-at-home mom, thinking it was outdated and sexist, but he was starting to realize that not everyone has the same ambitions. Women like Mercedes and Santana would run the world, and Tina would be just as strong and self-confident and independent in raising a family. She didn't have a point to prove, just a life to live the way she wants. And maybe, one day, Blaine could do the same.

He'd been by the entrance when he saw Mercedes arrive with a certain man hooked on her arm, carrying herself like the Queen of Sheba. She looked so radiant in a column of scarlet and David looked so sheepishly out of place that Blaine couldn't find it in him to begrudge her choice. After all, he never would have believed that David would brave that strange phenomenon called formality for a woman, no matter how heavily he was crushing on them and yet here he was, trussed up like a penguin. He looked uncomfortable and awkward and blissfully happy.

They'd headed over to Tina and Blaine once they spotted the pair up on the balcony. They hadn't talked for long before Mercedes had a vodka-tonic related emergency – the fact that she didn't have one – and David was swept away to deal with it, but Blaine tried to clumsily imply his support. He and Mercedes had made up but David was still an unspoken subject between them. He felt like an idiot, but he thought she understood what he was trying to say.

Someone cleared their throat loudly behind him and Blaine glanced over his shoulder, then spun around.

Kurt beamed. "Hi."

"Hi." Blaine looked him up and down, at a loss for words. "You look…" (sinful in black, slim waist and broad shoulders and _god_ that jacket is a work of art on you, aloof and unobtainable yet here in the flesh, bright and beautiful and so full of _life_) "…just, wow!"

Kurt just looked smug. "I give all the credit to the person who picked my outfit."

"I didn't know it was going to look like that!"

"Well McQueen was a good choice." His eyes were sparkling with what looked like mischief. "I'm introducing the public to my hot new boyfriend tonight, I wouldn't want them to think I've let myself go."

"Oh?" Blaine feigned dismay. "Which hot boyfriend would this be?"

"You might know him. He's gorgeous, sexy and has terrible taste in fashion."

"You just said I picked the suit well!"

"I know, that's why I asked you to choose it instead of my boyfriend."

Blaine smacked his arm and Kurt broke down into laughter. "You ass."

Kurt smoothed his face into a semblance of calm, but he was still grinning. At some point in the last few minutes Tina had slipped away and Blaine made a mental note to tell her that she's the best friend ever.

"How are you so relaxed right now?"

Kurt shrugged loosely. "I guess I'm nervous, but it feels amazing to finally be here actually doing something about it. It's out of our hands, now."

Blaine mustered a smile. "What do we do then? Just hang around and wait for someone to notice?"

"We should probably go and hang around by the photographer at some point." He peered over the balcony. "I think she's by the entrance somewhere. There's no paparazzi inside the building but the theater's photographer takes some shots for promotions. Santana's spoken to the manager and they've agreed to put a shot of us on the website."

"That's very…organized, I guess. It feels kind of anticlimactic."

Kurt laughed. "Well the storm won't come in for another few days, not until the photo's up and someone from the right magazine finds it."

"So…"

Kurt grabbed his hand. "So let's go make some journalists somewhere very happy."

He led Blaine down the sweeping staircases and Blaine just followed, equal parts excited and disorientated. There were so many people, so many plans, so many factors. He sort of missed the days when the most he had to worry about in a guy was if they'd still be there in the morning.

Kurt stopped abruptly and Blaine almost ran into him. He was gesturing to a woman clutching an enormous camera and she grinned in response and hurried over.

"You two are the special couple, right?" she asked excitedly.

"That's us," Kurt responded, turning to look at Blaine with an easy smile and a sparkle in his eyes. The reply Blaine had been about to give melted on his tongue.

"I…uh, yeah."

"Great! Now, let's see, if I could have you over by the bottom of the stairs, that would be great."

"It really doesn't matter," Kurt said quickly. "All we need is a shot, then you can get back to what you were doing."

She span around from where she'd been peering through the crowd and fixed him with a piercing stare. "I am _not_ taking a picture of the editor of Vogue just anywhere! Honestly, I have _some_ pride…"

She turned away, looking offended. Kurt just shrugged. "Oh, ok."

"Right, over here."

She led them over to the bottom of the sweeping staircase and positioned them on the bottom steps, Blaine just above Kurt.

"Perfect. If you wouldn't mind putting your arms around each other, we want to make it obvious that you're a couple."

Kurt looked over his shoulder at Blaine. The other man was practically vibrating from nerves.

"Hey, it'll be ok. It's just a photo," he murmured.

Blaine nodded. "I know, but…this is it. It's going to be official."

He saw Kurt's face drop and jumped in. "I'm not getting cold feet! It's just…what if they don't approve of me? Next to you, I'm just…nothing."

He noticed the photographer fiddling with her camera and gave her top marks for subtlety.

Kurt's face twisted in hurt. "How…Blaine, how can you say that? You're _everything_."

"But you're _you_, no one will understand why you've picked me of all people."

Kurt twisted so that he was facing him. "Stop that. Blaine, you have to know that I'm so proud to be with you. This is…more than I could ever have hoped."

Blaine took a deep, shuddering breath. "Ok."

A smile quirked Kurt's lips. "Ok?"

"Ok."

Kurt stood on tiptoe to reach Blaine's lips for a slow, sweet kiss. "I love you."

Blaine was biting back a grin by now. "I love you too. Now let's go tell the world." He looked up over Kurt's head to where the photographer was beaming smugly and flicking through the photos on her camera. "Sorry to hold you up, we're ready now."

She shook her head. "Don't worry, I've got exactly what I need. It was wonderful to meet you both, but I'd better be going."

"But…" Blaine started, but she'd already disappeared into the crowd.

Kurt couldn't help but laugh. "Make it obvious we're a couple, huh?"

Blaine relaxed, leaning back against the railings. "It's not my fault you can't keep your hands off me."

"You're so full of yourself."

He winked back at Kurt, all of the nervousness gone. It was over. They'd done it, for better or for worse, and he had a feeling it would be for the better. It was out of their hands now.

"You love it."**  
**


	20. Chapter 20

**It's got to the stage where I'm just going to have to admit that this story is taking much, much longer than I thought. That said I will NEVER abandon it! New chapters will be far between but will keep coming, so thank you guys so much for sticking with me on this frankly ridiculous journey into gleedom. I haven't been answering reviews for a while just because RL is horrible distracting (and not even in a fun way!) and my head's been too full of essays and exams for the last few months. I can't wait for this summer!**

**Sorry for the ramble...**

**Warning: Rish**

**Disclaimer: As always, still not mine!**

* * *

It would be cruel to say that their eyes met across a crowded room, but that's exactly what happened. Kurt was talking faster than before, clutching his champagne glass in one hand as he gestured along with his words. He and Tina laughed together and it sounded too loud, too close.

The ballet had been beautiful. Blaine had never seen one before and he'd dismissed it as something pretty - sparkly and impressive, but essentially vapid. That had changed as he'd watched; the grief etched into the face of the Swan Princess as she was pulled into death by the blindness of the man she loved was as real as anything he'd ever seen. Perhaps that was why it was an immortal story. The pain of loss, of love lost, defies age. It is as relevant now as it ever was, even more so, in the time when what something seems to be is as important as what it truly is. As she'd danced the anguish had poured into every step, every moment of pain, every bruised and damaged foot and broken heart bled into a perfect performance. Mike had been fantastic of course, but Blaine had only had eyes for the princess.

And then their eyes met. The man had excused himself from the group he was standing with and had started to weave his way through the crowd towards them. Blaine stood transfixed with something like horror, Kurt's laughter ringing in his ears as the man who'd been an inch away from tearing his heart in two reappeared before his eyes.

"Fancy seeing you here."

Blaine responded stiffly. "Sebastian."

He looked the same. That was the only thing that Blaine could process. He looked the same as the last time they'd ever met, when Blaine had watched his hands roaming over another body, his mouth kissing another set of lips. Same overly-dramatic hairstyle, same cold, calculating eyes, same shit-eating grin.

It was a surprise to Blaine to realize that he hated him.

He thought he'd hated him before, when he'd locked himself in his apartment for three days straight until Wes had threatened to knock the door down. Blaine had told Kurt that he hadn't loved Sebastian and it was true, but those days were the first time Blaine had ever felt so naïve. So yes, he'd ranted and cried and maliciously allowed himself to imagine Sebastian's ass impaled on a red-hot poker, but he hadn't hated him. Not with the hot, gut-twisting feeling that clenched in his stomach that made him feel physically sick. It ran through him and he felt with horror his hands curling into fists.

The man had barely said two words to him yet.

"Well aren't you looking delicious nowadays." He didn't even try to be subtle as his eyes raked up and down Blaine's body. Blaine could almost feel the intrusion.

That comment caught Kurt's attention and he broke off from his conversation. Blaine wanted to plead with him to turn away but who had the right to hear this if not Kurt?

"I don't think we've been introduced," he said coldly, offering his free hand. Sebastian took it with a smirk, shaking once before dropping the hand like it was infected.

"Sebastian Smythe," he drawled, then turned back to Blaine. "My my, Kurt Hummel. I wouldn't have thought it of you."

"I don't have time for this," Blaine responded angrily. "What do you want?"

Sebastian's eyebrows flew upwards. "Want? I was just hoping to catch up with an old friend."

Kurt snorted loudly and Blaine almost smiled at his lack of subtlety. "We didn't exactly part amicably, Sebastian."

"I know! And when I saw you standing over here I thought what a… _shame_ that was. I was thinking we should catch up. Here, let me get you a drink."

Kurt opened his mouth like he was about to protest, then it snapped shut again. He looked torn, but he shot Blaine a look that said exactly what Blaine was thinking. They couldn't afford for tonight to go anything but smoothly, so they couldn't cause a fuss.

Sebastian made an effort to draw just Blaine away to the bar with him, but Kurt followed. Sebastian looked put out but he accepted the arrangement with a sneer.

"So what are you doing now, Blaine? Still making coffee for a living?"

"I work at Vogue, _actually_."

"Oh! You work with your friend here."

"I work in the same company as my _boy_friend, yes," Blaine almost snarled. "And don't even think about putting that in your little gossip column, because it's public knowledge as of about an hour ago. You'd be doing us a favor."

The other man just grinned. "I prefer the term 'celebrity exposé'. And I see you're still keeping tabs on my career."

"I heard it mentioned once," Blaine replied heatedly. "I was definitely _not_ interested in anything to do with you or your trashy column!"

He felt a hand touch his arm lightly and the anger left him. He took a deep breath.

"Look, I don't know why you're here and I don't know why you're talking to me, but I think this conversation is over."

Sebastian inclined his head mockingly. "If I'm making you uncomfortable I completely understand. You were always so _touchy_."

Blaine stood up and Kurt copied him. "We'll leave now."

Kurt walked away but as Blaine moved to follow Sebastian caught his arm.

"What are you-"

"He's not your usual type," he interrupted coolly. "It's interesting, though. Nobody knows very much about Kurt Hummel. I suppose you do, though."

"Good_bye_, Sebastian." He shook his arm free and turned away with the sensation of eyes burning into the back of his head.

When he looked around Kurt was talking to Tina again but he was agitated, flushed and jumping whenever anyone brushed against him. Blaine hurried over but Kurt shrugged off the hand he rested on his arm.

"Do you want to talk?"

Kurt just shook his head curtly and tried to pick up the tail end of a sentence he'd clearly forgotten. Tina was watching him anxiously, shooting a glance at Blaine that he returned worriedly.

"Kurt, come outside, please."

Kurt shook his head obstinately. "Honestly, Blaine, I'm fine."

"_Please,"_ he begged, and Kurt gave in with a sigh.

Blaine took his hand and led him out of the doors to one side of the entrance. It had still been light when he arrived but darkness had fallen since and the vast square was lit by floodlights that illuminated every soaring arch of the façade. It was a building designed to be daunting, beautiful yet austere. Standing in the shelter of one archway, they were barely more than shadows against the vast walls.

"Kurt, please listen to me."

"I'm fi-"

"No, you're _not!_ I know you, Kurt, better than I know anyone, better than I know myself, sometimes."

Kurt had his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. "It's ok," he said quietly. "It's not your fault he's here. You didn't make him say those things."

Blaine watched him slump against the wall, still staring at his shoes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this impotent; physically present but rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but watch the tears track slowly down Kurt's cheeks. He wanted to grab him, to force him to look at him, to see that he was still there, still waiting, but he wasn't sure he could handle the pain in Kurt's beautiful eyes.

So instead he let his anger, anger at Sebastian and the media and at fate for being so exquisitely cruel as to let this happen tonight, bubble up inside him and spew out.

"No, I didn't. Because I _love you_. I love you and I think I might always love you and there is nothing you, or the world, or _fucking_ Sebastian can do to ruin that!"

Kurt finally looked up. His face was pale with angry red spots high on his cheeks. Tears clung to his eyelashes and Blaine suddenly realized that he'd never looked more heartbreakingly beautiful. He'd seen Kurt with fire and pride and lust in his eyes, but he'd never seen this vulnerability, this trust.

"Let's go home," he stated firmly, and the shake in his voice would have been undetectable if Blaine didn't know it was there.

He nodded, content to drop the conversation. "Should I call your driver? He shouldn't take too long."

"Shall we just get a cab? I just…I want to feel normal, just for tonight."

Blaine turned to look at him. Kurt was staring straight ahead, not seeing the cars that flashed past on Broadway. He couldn't stand hearing the uncertainty in Kurt's words, the hesitation. The only time he'd heard it before was weeks ago, months even, when they'd lain in bed and shared their lives across a pillow. Kurt had told him about high school, about Cheerios and Jocks and Gleeks, dumpsters and something called a slushie. When he'd got to the part about the stolen kiss he'd stopped, and when his voice had come back it had a waver in it. The rest Kurt could laugh off, but that kiss had stayed with him for all those years. It was the same sound now, and Blaine's breath caught in his throat to know that he put it there, he and that son of a _bitch_ ex-boyfriend.

He caught Kurt's hand and laced their fingers together. Kurt's hand was cold and loose in his, but he squeezed it tightly until Kurt turned to him with a weak smile. "I'm not going to fall apart, honestly."

Blaine shrugged. "I don't know what you mean. Why shouldn't I hold my boyfriend's hand if I want to?"

Kurt's smile was unforced. "You're a dork."

Blaine agreed with a nod. "But you love me."

The humor was gone now and he was thankful that Kurt didn't joke in response. Instead he seemed to draw himself up until the roles were reversed and he was the one that Blaine was holding onto. "But I love you," he echoed. "And Sebastian can't have you. You're mine!"

Blaine saying something gooey in response, mainly because he was suddenly very interested in the way Kurt was looking at him. Normally their sex life was relatively vanilla and Blaine had never thought that they were missing anything, but Kurt was staring at him with a predatory gleam in his eye that had Blaine unsettled.

"I, um…"

He didn't get any more out before Kurt's lips were on his, kissing him fiercely as one hand twisted into his hair almost painfully and the other slid round his waist to hold them close together. It was lucky, because Blaine's legs half gave out a moment later. Kurt just pulled him even tighter against him and continued the onslaught, lips hot and firm against Blaine's willing mouth. Kurt had never been so dominant before and it was all he could do let himself be kissed into oblivion.

Eventually Kurt pulled away. "Let's go. Now." The words were innocent, but his hungry stare definitely wasn't.

The cab ride was torture. Blaine could feel Kurt's hand on his thigh like a brand and it was all he could do to stare straight ahead and pretend he was somewhere, anywhere else, because if he didn't he was sure he'd jump Kurt, right there and then in the back of a moving vehicle. His palms were slick with sweat, fingers twisting together as he tried to forget the sensation of Kurt pressed against him, kissing him – no, _taking_ him – helpless under Kurt's possessive hands. His imagination carried on where their kiss had left off and he couldn't think of anything else if he'd tried, not with the memory of Sebastian so fresh and the sensation of Kurt's eyes hot on his face. He didn't dare look around, but he didn't dare turn away.

The moment they were inside the door of Kurt's apartment Blaine found himself pressed up against the wall, caged in by Kurt's body. Kurt was trying to appear unaffected but his cheeks were flushed, his hair mussed from their kiss earlier. He leaned against the wall, bracketing Blaine's head with his arms until he surrounded the other man. Their height difference had rarely been noticeable before, but now Blaine found himself looking up at the other man, inches away.

"You're mine tonight."

The breath was hot against his cheek, the words soft in his ear as Kurt leaned forward. Their cheeks brushed and he paused there, skin against hot skin.

"Always," Blaine breathed, but Kurt shook his head in a movement that Blaine felt rather than saw.

"No. Normally I have to share you, with your friends and colleagues and every asshole in the street who walks past you." He spoke quietly, but in the silence of the apartment every word fell clearly. "But tonight…tonight you're mine. _Just_ mine. Mine to do what I like with."

A shaky gasp escaped his lips as he nodded frantically. He felt Kurt's smile curve into his skin. "_Good._"

And so Blaine stood there, locked against the wall by the slight pressure of Kurt's face against his own, while hands brushed his clothes, slipping inside his jacket to trace the lines of his chest but always over his shirt and above his pants, the fabric barely concealing the heat of the caress but still it was too much, a barrier between them. He couldn't help but press into the movement, squirming under the touch, but then suddenly the hands were gone from his body and were on his wrists, pinning them against the wall.

"No," Kurt growled against his ear. "Don't move."

Blaine was panting now, locked in place by the force of his wrists held tightly back and the sensation of Kurt's leg pressing into the space between his. His own legs fell apart and now Kurt was against him, from chest all the way down to where their legs were tangled. He couldn't have moved if he'd tried; the full weight of the other man pressed him into the wall. The only part which Kurt kept well away from was Blaine's aching erection. He'd been half hard since they'd left the Lincoln Centre and now it was painful, throbbing in the centre of him while he gritted his teeth and tried desperately not to cry out at the feeling of Kurt's teeth grazing his ear, slowly, then biting it and licking away the pain. He felt a groan escape him anyway and was rewarded with a low chuckle against his skin.

"You can't keep quiet, can you? You _want_ me."

Blaine _was_ surprised when that elicited a moan too, but he couldn't think about it because Kurt was right there, guiding his hands firmly behind his back and laughing softly. Dangerously.

"You want me so much even the _thought_ makes you moan for me."

When he wasn't talking that mouth was hot against the skin behind his ear, sucking until it was painful and the kissing it away.

"What do you want?" His voice was low, rough.

"You," Blaine gasped.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Please," he babbled, his whole being focused on the heat on his neck. "Touch me, _please_."

"What?" Kurt's leg thrust up so that it _finally_ met Blaine's erection and after being aroused for so long he almost came then and there. He could feel his stomach clench painfully, everything contracting to the pressure on his cock until his legs almost gave in and the only thing keeping him upright was the body keeping him pressed tightly against the wall. "_Here?_"

He shifted his leg lazily and it was all Blaine could do not to fall apart. His head fell backwards to hit the wall with a thud and his eyes dropped shut, focused entirely on the man surrounding him.

"There Kurt, _please_," he panted.

Kurt shook his head slowly. "Oh no, you're not coming yet." His mouth dropped lower down Blaine's neck, pressing hot kisses against the skin until he reached the collar of his shirt. He growled in frustration and pulled roughly at the bowtie, crumpled but still intact. "I've barely started."

Slowly Blaine's shirt was peeled open by questing hands, undoing the buttons one by one. His head hit the wall and he had to shut his eyes but that only made it more intense, the feeling of palms exploring the contours of his chest and slipping slowly down his sides, the sound of Kurt's carefully controlled breathing and his own short pants. Kurt's lips followed his hands, leaving a trail on his skin that burned even after it passed. Then the hands were at his pants, deftly undoing them and easing them over his hips, and the long, drawn out moan that escaped him was impossible to prevent.

"Kurt, you're killing me here," he whispered, the words a plea.

Kurt paused where he was mouthing against Blaine's stomach. "I love you," he spoke into the skin. "I _love_ you, and nothing's going to stop me. _Ever_."

He ran his hands down Blaine's hips, pressing fingers into the soft flesh possessively. "Look at me," he said, and the words were a challenge. "Watch me. Don't look away."

Blaine's gaze dropped to meet Kurt's just as the other man's mouth slid over his erection, taking him into the hot, wet cavern without warning. It took everything he had not to look away but he retained eye contact through sheer force of will, watching as the man he loved claimed him with his eyes. There was a steely expression in them, a combination of determination and wild possessiveness that had him transfixed. He kept watching as Kurt began to move, taking him, pulling him again and again into the heat and the ecstacy, sucking harshly until the thrill was almost pain.

Blaine should have been the one doing the claiming but he had no power. All he had was the ability to hold on as Kurt pulled him in through the eyes, bringing him closer and closer. When he finally, torturously came he only had the sensation of falling down the wall, eyes squeezed shut against the sudden prick of tears and the arms holding his sweat-slicked skin close, lips in his hair murmuring that he was there.

That night after they'd made love, achingly slowly after that explosion of heat and anger directed everywhere but each other, they lay in Kurt's bed with the sweat still cooling on their skin. Kurt had already fallen asleep, head burrowed into the curve between Blaine's chin and shoulder. Blaine had one hand pressed between their bodies and a face full of Kurt's hair. He thought back to what he'd said in the square.

_I love you, and there's nothing anyone can do to ruin that_.

His lips twitched into a smile, but he couldn't help the sinking feeling that something had gone wrong that night.


End file.
